Malfoy vs Longbottom
by georginacastleorpington
Summary: There were two things wrong with the picture at the beginning of Malfoy's final year at Hogwarts. One: Longbottom was Head Boy. Two: Longbottom was dating Rose Weasley. To Malfoy this is unacceptable, so war is on the cards. Malfoy versus Longbottom.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, this is just a quick little one shot that I wrote to cheer me up through all the depressing hours of revision. I should have probably been revising...but oh well :)**

**I probably won't continue it...but I quite like the personality of Malfoy in this so I may decide to.**

**Let me know what you think!**

* * *

Oh god. Who is that handsome devil with the perfectly coiffed hair and the expensive sleek school robes?

How is it that his cheekbones are so pleasantly defined with a manly edge, and just a dash of aristocrat? And how is it possible for someone to have such fabulously toned arms?

I think it should be made entirely illegal to be that good looking. It should be a punishable offence to look _that_ suave and demure. He is verging on being male model material he is that damn beautiful.

I blink.

The god blinks.

Oh yes? Did I mention that the god is _myself_? I must be the luckiest guy on earth looking this good every day.

"Do you want to stop admiring your reflection in the train window about now and explain to me why that troll Weasley is playing tonsil hockey with Ernest Longbottom." Elizabeth Goyle steps painfully on my foot, leaving a nasty dirt imprint on my 300 galleon Italian loafers. I decide to let it go, seeing as I am feeling so loving and polite today.

And I am in complete unadulterated shock.

"Troll. Longbottom. Hockey. TONSIL?" I squeak, perhaps a little too loudly, as I am reminded by Goyle who unceremoniously, and in an entirely undignified manner, punches me in the gut. I subtly turn around, without revealing the fact that my internal organs are probably suffering severe bleeding at the moment, and am faced with the most repulsive sight I have ever had the misfortune to look upon.

Weasley plus Longbottom plus saliva exchange equals REVOLTED MALFOY. I think I may soon be sick.

"It's disgusting isn't it? I didn't even know that troll knew what boys were," Elizabeth states conversationally, regarding them with a strange expression. "Do you reckon she paid him?"

"LIZZIE!" An ungodly shriek pierces the air, and it can only belong to one person – Mrs Goyle.

Elizabeth frowns and rolls her eyes. "The mother calls. I'll see you on the train."

And now she has abandoned me. I am left standing on this platform on my entire lonesome. Well, lonesome except for my parents who have decided to join me after they ran back to the car because mother forgot her handbag.

"Dear god. Is that a Weasley lip locking with a Longbottom?" My father says, and the slight cackle that follows this announcement suggests that this amuses him. It appears to amuse him as much as it revolts me.

I nod, an expression of total abhorrence plastered over my godly features. "Don't keep drawing my attention to it, I'm starting to feel incredibly ill all of a sudden."

The situation has, if that were possible, got worse. Longbottom's scrawny little Herbology-loving hands are on her bum. Sickening. Truly sickening.

If I were to do that to her she would transfigure me into the smelliest rodent she could think of and then trap me in the U-bend of Professor Longbottom's lavatory. Or maybe she would lock me in his 'fertiliser' pot. I say 'fertiliser' in such a manner, because that stupid Longbottom creature doesn't even put fertiliser in it. He puts dung from the various magical creatures in our school in it.

"Jealous that even Longbottom could get a girl and you couldn't, eh?" My father asks, once again displaying his uncanny knack of misreading every situation and pretending to be funny.

"Why would I be jealous of Longbottom? He is touching that ginger freak's bottom, and _that_ is something I would give my entire inheritance to avoid."

My father grins. My mother casts a suspicious look in Weasley's direction and THANK GOD her gingerness and Longbottom have stopped procreating in public. Before I can even distract mother with promises of sending her letters detailing every single homework assignment I get, she has given my father an odd looking smirk and marched over to the ginger end of the platform.

It actually has an odd glow to it, it is full of that many gingers.

"Where is she going?" I demand, panicked. Oh dear. She is shaking Weasley's hand. Weasley is smiling. "What is she saying?" Weasley is laughing. I put my head in my hands. "She's telling her about when I flew my first broom into that tree and cried for a week because my nose was injured isn't she?"

Oh god.

Oh god.

Goodbye reputation. Adieu respect from all lower years. Farewell female company.

My mother returns looking immensely pleased with herself and she embraces me so I am engulfed by her perfume. "I'll see you at Christmas, Scorpykins!"

A nearby second year bursts into fits of giggles as he walks past. Stupid little midget. Can't he see its not my fault I descend from such lunatics?

"Bye," I grunt reluctantly. Feeling great relief when the whistle blows and finally I have an excuse to escape from this mental anguish. You would think that being pureblood would make us refined and formal as a family, but for some reason we appear, excluding myself, to be only fit for the loony bin.

The second the train starts moving, and the sight of my mother weeping tears of delight that I am finally on my way to my last year of school has vanished from view, I decide what I am going to do.

I am going to talk with that short little ginger Weasley girl. Firstly to demand why she must insist on blinding us all with basically doing _the deed_ with Longbottom in a public place, and secondly to get her to tell me what my mother talked to her about.

* * *

"Weasley, I need to talk to you." Every ginger head in the compartment turns to me. Oh dear. I forget sometimes they are all Weasleys. For me, the only true weasel is Rose Weasley. "I meant _you_." I point at my chosen Weasley.

"Malfoy?" she asks sweetly.

"Yes, you little ginger weirdo?"

"Piss off." She returns to reading her book, or more likely textbook, and pretends that I am not standing in this doorway giving the compartment a heavenly glow. I know she is pretending, because what girl, hideous troll or not, can resist the Malfoy charms and sparkly eyes?

"Get up or I will personally haul you out of here," I tell her, relatively calmly considering my present state of mind. "And I cannot garuntee that all your limbs will remain attached if I do."

"Rose, can you shut the compartment door please? There's a bit of a draught," Potter says. And I can see the sneaky little Slytherin-esque smirk that he has when he says that. Weasley jumps up and faces me, though she acts as though she can't even see me.

I hate her so much.

"You are so pathetic," I inform her. She pretends not to have heard me, and just grabs the handle of the door and heaves it with all of the force her tiny body can muster so that it slides shut...

"AAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH! MY NOOOSSEEEE!"

OH. MY. SWEET. MERLIN.

My face is irreparable. It is irreplaceable. If I lose my looks I will have nothing else! (Apart from intelligence, sparkling wit and endless wealth, of course). I clasp a hand to my nose, just to check that it hasn't actually been chopped off with the force she closed that bloody compartment door with.

"Nice work, Rosie!" I hear Potter say through fits of laughter, as the compartment door slides open and then shuts again.

"Soo...what did you need to talk about?"

That heartless, callous _witch_. Can she not see that I am crippled in agony? Is she unaware that she has mutilated my beauty, perhaps permanently?

"HELLO? IS IT NOT OBVIOUS THAT YOU HAVE MURDERED ME?"

She lifts one eyebrow at my outburst. "Oh come on, you wimp. It's only a little bump, and anyway, you've only got me for about..." She peers at her watch. "...two minutes. So you better be quick. I have more important things to be doing."

"A _BUMP_? This 'bump' is going to need reconstructive surgery!" I manage to lift myself so I am standing at my full height, but still clasping my nose in case it suddenly drops off. "And by more important things, are you referring to shagging Longbottom?"

I think she was about to turn around and give up trying to talk to me, but she spins back around again. I was expecting her to be outraged, and maybe wallop me over the head as she would have done in the past, but when she turned back round again she had the most Slytherin-ey smirk I have seen since...well, since I looked in the mirror.

"Jealous, Malfoy? I didn't know gingers were your cup of tea."

Why does everyone think I am jealous of bloody _Longbottom_? I couldn't be jealous of someone with such a stupid name as _LONGBOTTOM_ if I TRIED.

"I'm sorry to inform you, weasel-face, but I am NOT jealous. In fact I would never be jealous of Longbottom. He has nothing that I would ever be jealous of...In fact, I can guarantee he will _never_ have something that I would ever be jealous of..."

"He's head boy, you know."

WHAT?

It was bad enough that _I_ wasn't chosen to be Head Boy. Let's face it, I am the best looking and most charming, and most intelligent of all the seventh year boys, but that fact that LONGBOTTOM got it when I didn't?

WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH THE WORLD?

Longbottom is Head Boy.

Longbottom's girlfriend is Weasley.

Longbottom has touched Weasley's bum.

Longbottom is probably shagging Weasley.

Before I can even verbally express my loathing of that nancy boy, Weasley has spoken again. "Yeah...And I'm Head Girl."

That's it. Longbottom is going DOWN. DOWN I TELL YOU.

My Slytherin mind will begin plotting as soon I have spoken to a plastic surgeon about my poor nose.

"Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about? You've never expressed an interest in talking to me ever before...Are you sure you're not jealous?" She is looking too pleased about all of this.

"I am NOT jealous."

"Nah...you're just in denial."

I clutch my nose, and try not to stamp my foot in annoyance. I have never known anyone so damn IRRITATING. "I just wanted to ask what my mother was talking to you about."

She folds her arms and grins. "Sorry. If I told you I'd have to kill you."

"Be my guest. Life isn't worth living any more," I mutter, almost imperceptibly.

"What did you say?"

I must depart now. Before I say anything else entirely stupid. "I said, FINE. But I will get it out of you."

She rolls her eyes. "How, exactly? I'm not falling for stupid tricks like you spiking my pumpkin juice with veritaserum."

"Ways and means, Weasley. Ways and means." Deciding that this was a sufficiently dramatic exit, I try to walk away in a dignified manner whilst still clutching my nose. "Oh and Weasley?"

"What?"

"In future, can you refrain from procreating with Longbottom in public. I almost puked over my new Armani suitcase."

Weasley starts laughing. _Laughing_.

Oh buggery buggerations. I'm actually jealous, aren't I? I am actually bloody jealous of someone called LONGBOTTOM. Of someone whose name suggests an elongated arse. Not only that, I am jealous because he is HEAD BOY, and I am not.

And I am jealous because he has touched Weasley's bum.

Why am I jealous because he has touched Weasley's bum?

It's official. I have inherited the pureblood lunatic gene from my parental units. Do you know what this means? This means I will have to lower myself to marrying a non-pureblood for the sake of my children's sanity.

Weasley isn't a pureblood is she? Oh god. I need firewhiskey. And I need it now.

* * *

"ZABINI!" I cry, falling into the seventh year Slytherin compartment. "I need your help."

"Why is your nose bright red?" Zabini asks, regarding my face with interest.

I snort. "Weasley shut a door on it. Anyway, I need your help. Stop drawing your attention back to my intensely attractive form."

Zabini blinks at me.  
"You know...I never thought I would _ever_ hear you say that. I never honestly thought I would see the day when you didn't want to discuss your godly appearance."

I narrow my eyes at me. "Well, today I have far more pressing matters."

Goyle stops staring aimlessly out of the window and turns to me in surprise, with a bit of amusement mixed up in her surprise. "Who are you? Because you are not Scorpius Malfoy."

I chose to ignore this remark.

"What do you need my help with? It can't be a girl problem, because you have enough experience in _that_ arena, if you know what I mean."

"Of course it's not a girl problem," I inform him. Then I take a deep breath. "I need you to help me make Longbottom lose his Head Boy title."

Zabini smirks at me. "And why would that be?"

Elizabeth chuckles slightly. "Yeah, Malfoy? Why would that be? Could it _possibly _have anything to do with his bum groping earlier on, with a certain red-head we all know and...?"

"Hate?"

Zabini smirks even harder. "In your case, mate, I think it's FANCY."

I give him a look.

"Of course, I'll help you. I'm sure Goyle will too...what with her newfound love of...Herbology..."

Goyle turns slightly red. "What does Goyle's subject choice have anything to do with this?" I demand.

"Just ignore Zabini, Scorpykins." She throws Zabini a dirty look. I have a feeling I am missing something here. "We'll both help you..._if_ you admit you like her."

"I **don't** like her. I just have an overwhelming urge to bring Longbottom down a peg or two at the moment. Maybe beat him up with a broomstick. Or lock him in a dungeon with a rogue bludger." My fists clench involuntarily and Zabini and Goyle burst into fits of laughter.

"Just say you like her," Zabini orders me. "Say you like her and we'll help you."

As a Slytherin, I suppose it is my prerogative to lie to get what I want. And what I want is Longbottom's hand chopped off so he can't grab other people's less long bottoms.

"Fine... I..." I lower my voice about 300 decibels. "I like...her."

"Pardon?" Goyle says, cupping a hand around one of ears and leaning in. "Didn't quite catch that."

"I...er...like her..." I say a little bit louder.

"Sorry, mate, did you just say something?" Zabini says. Oh god. I hate my friends.

They are verging on being worse than my intolerable family.

"I BLOODY LIKE HER YOU STUPID ITALIAN TWIT!"

It was just my luck that Potter happened to be walking past the door at that point and threw me the most freaked out glance I have ever received in my entire life. My reputation of being debonair has gone entirely out of the window now.

* * *

"_Alohamora_."

Well, I kind of knew that wasn't going to work.

"What on earth are you trying to do...are you trying to _break in_?" The lady in the portrait says waking up from an apparently deep sleep. She yawns and then catches sight of my face.

Or I should say my _heavenly _face.

She flutters her eyelashes and rearranges her hair quickly. "And who might this be? Another Malfoy?"

Looks like I'm going to have to sweet talk the portrait lady to let me in, given that the whole 'alohamora' thing didn't work out.

"Indeed it is. And I was wondering if you could just do me a little favour. You see, my friend, Rose, left her Herbology textbook up here and I said I would collect it for her...do you think you could let me in?"

The lady lifts her eyebrows. "What's in it for me?"

"The honour of knowing you have helped a boy in need." I smile beatifically. "By the way, has anyone ever told you how..." I search around for a word, "...ravishing you look?"

The lady blushes beetroot red. BINGO. "Oh...well...No one's told me that in over 500 years..." She looks thoughtful for a second. "In you go then, you handsome devil."

Ewwwww.

OK. Now that I am safely in the Head's quarters it is time to put this plan in action. One common room destruction coming right up! Zabini better be right about this whole ruining the head's common room and then blaming it on Longbottom thing.

I lift up my wand when I hear the portrait talking again, and that can only mean one of two things: Either the portrait has lost even more of her marbles and has started talking to herself, or someone is coming.

And given that the portrait is now swinging open that means it's the latter.

SHIT. HIDE! Look...door on left. I jump over to the door and ran inside the room. It was a bedroom that was fairly tidy except for the floor that was littered with books and ...hold on...is that a bra?

Crap, this is Weasley's room. Unless...

I DO NOT WANT TO THINK ABOUT THAT.

I can't go out now though. I need to hide somewhere...The cupboard! Oh bugger, it's way too small. I will get severe back injury if I try to squeeze into _that_. Alright then...under the bed it is.

I have just managed to fit myself under the bed, unfortunately disrupting the perfection that is my hair in the process, but one has to suffer to cause misery and despair to Longbottoms, when the door to this room opens and someone with small feet and wearing jeans walks in. That is the extent of my vision from under here.

The feet/ankle area.

Oh no.

The jeans are now being removed. Must remain SILENT or my favourite appendage will be cursed off by a half-dressed Weasley.

Half-dressed Weasley? Now, why does that sound suddenly so appealing... A t-shirt has just fallen to the ground.

Shame my line of vision is limited to the feet area really.

A soft thud indicates that Weasley is being her usual clumsy self and has knocked something to the floor. Which means in a minute she is going to pick it up. Which means...In my absolute panic, I thud my head painfully against the underside of the bed and accidentally let out a strangled cry of pain.

"WHO'S THERE?" Weasley's voice screeches. Then she kneels down and peers under the bed, and can I just say the angle of her...assets...isn't remotely unpleasant.

Who knew she was hiding them under her enormous baggy jumpers?

Apart from Longbottom of course.

"MALFOY?"

I smile awkwardly. "Don't move darling, you're giving me a good view here." Her face vanishes instantly as she jumps up.

"GET OUT OF HERE NOW!"

No need to shout. I am moving, I think to myself as I shuffle sideways and get out from under the bed. My hair must look incredibly awful...and OH MY GOD! Is that a speck of dust on my jumper? I need to get this _cleaned!_

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?" Oh dear. Weasley looks furious. Though can I just say that a furious Weasley in only bra and knickers is certainly not an unpleasant sight. It's infinitely better than a fully-dressed furious Weasley with access to a wand, and a lifetime's knowledge of hexes.

"I can explain," I tell her, holding my hands up in front of me to indicate my innocence. But, she is not giving me the benefit of the doubt, clearly, and before I can explain myself I am wet.  
Very wet.

She appears to have thrown a jug of orange juice on my entire body.

"WHA T WAS THAT FOR?"

She puts the jug back down on the ground. "WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM? AND...um...WHY ARE YOU _STRIPPING_ IN MY ROOM?"

Yes, that is right. The jumper is coming off. It has been soiled from the dust under the bed, and the horrendous orange juice she decided to fling at me and therefore cannot touch my beautiful skin. OH GOD! It's soaked through to my shirt!

Looks like that will have to come off too.

"Do you know how much these clothes cost?" I ask her. She looks at me blankly, as I calmly remove my shirt. "TOO MUCH TO HAVE ORANGE JUICE THROWN AT THEM, THAT'S HOW MUCH!" I lift my shirt up and wring it out over her feet, to emphasise the point that they are completely ruined.

And so is her carpet now. But she deserves it for throwing juice at me. Honestly, what kind of childish thing is _that_ to do!

"If you remove your trousers I am going to kill you."

"Well, look away then. And find me a change of clothes." I tell her. She looks like she is about to vomit. "And don't look at me like that, you're the one that ruined my clothes. Now you have to pay the consequences."

"HELLO? You were HIDING UNDER MY BED! AND SERIOUSLY...PUT YOUR TROUSERS BACK ON!" She lifts a hand to cover her eyes.

"But..."

"I DON'T CARE IF THEY'RE WET! I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOUR SCRAWNY PALE LEGS AND YOUR..." She opens her eyes to find her way to her wardrobe. A second later a pair of scratty, grubby tracksuit bottoms are flying through the air and whacking me on the face. "PLEASE put them on!"

I pull them on quickly, happy to be dry, although my skin is already tingling from touching such badly made and clearly unclean garments.

"Now, I am going to try remain calm now, and YOU are going to tell me WHY exactly you were hiding underneath my bed, alright?" She snaps, grabbing a blanket from off her bed and covering her dignity (and other things) with it.

"I thought it was Longbottom's bed."

"You're digging yourself a deeper hole right now," she says, surpressing a smirk.

"You're worse than bloody Zabini! I am NOT GAY alright! I am JEALOUS because that git with the LONG ARSE has gone and stolen the Head Boy badge from me and YOU are letting him FEEL UP YOUR BUM! So I have decided to sabotage him!"

Silence.

"Why did I just tell you that?"

"That was the orange juice you sneaked into the Head's rooms the other week with veritaserum in it," Weasley informs me with a grin. "And if I am right, which I usually am, veritaserum strengthens the longer it is kept and can eventually cause its effect if it touches the skin of a target."

"I hate my life."

"So, tell me, why are you jealous of Longbottom again?" she asks, giving the impression of a pleasant person – not someone that has just tricked someone into speaking the truth.

"He's SHAGGING YOU. And...you know, he's Head Boy."

"ROSIEEE!" Longbottom's nasty Gryffindor tone hits our ears.

"CRAP! There is no way you are staying in here, you are HALF NAKED. Go back to your dorm or I will give you detentions for rest of the school year," she says, standing up and clasping her blanket tight around her shoulders.

"But what if Longbottom sees-"

"Don't let him see!"

And I am hauled unceremoniously out of her room and flung on the ground, before my shirt, jumper and trousers are flung at my head. "And if you_ ever_ undress in front of me again I will MURDER you in your sleep," she growls, looking like she means business. Remind me never to cross her ever again.

The door slams in my face, and almost simultaneously Longbottom's door opens. "Hey, Rosie! Guess wha ...MALFOY?"

I jump up and scoop my drenched clothing in my arms, taking care to keep them a good distance away. "Oh, hi, Longbottom," I say calmly. Longbottom looks at me for a good few seconds, and you can basically see the cogs of his mind working. Topless Malfoy equals Unhappy Longbottom.

"Were you here to see Rose?"

I try to say no, because I do not want to be murdered by Weasley and/or Longbottom (he is not looking particularly happy right now)...but remember VERITASERUM WINS ALL. "Yes."

Oh poo. This stupid plot to sneak into the Head's common room completely backfired on me.

That was the sentiment I was contemplating when Longbottom's scrawny soil coated fist collides with my face.

Longbottom 1: Malfoy 0


	2. Chapter 2

**This was originally just going to be a one-shot...but I got super bored and decided to write a bit more so here you go ;)**

**Let me know what you think, please =]**

* * *

Why must my skin be so exquisitely pale?

Now the evidence of Longbottom's right hook is clearly visible all around my left eye. I have gone a grotesque shade of purple/lilac.

I have been completely mutilated. And by a plebeian, no less.

I shall never recover from this. Recently my dazzling good looks have taken several mighty blows and all from Gryffindors. Firstly was the shutting my nose in the door thing, courtesy of our resident buck-toothed frizzy-haired know-it-all.

And now, _this_.

I raise a finger to my face and gingerly poke the bruise that has appeared overnight. However, the door swinging open violently at that point jogs my hand and I end up poking myself painfully in my left eye.

"I thought you'd be in here," Zabini says, strutting over to the mirror and examining his reflection. His attention finally turns from his mop of dark hair and turns to my face. I drop the hand that had been clutching my eye after he made me poke it.

"HAHA!"

The corners of my mouth do not even turn up, despite how much he seems to be laughing about this it is _not_ funny. I doubt I will even be able to show my face at the rest of today's lessons. Longbottom will have spread the news to all of his creepy little Gryffindor pals that he has beaten me up and I will never hear the end of it from all his cronies.

My life could not get any worse than this. A fact that my dearest friend is too insensitive to even comprehend, judging by the way he is doubled over seemingly in complete agony from laughing too hard.

He clutches the sink next to him and looks up at me before dissolving into laughter again. "Your…face…HAHA!"

"If you don't shut up, I'll give you one," I say, folding my arms in annoyance. He is still laughing.

"As if you'd be able to give me a black eye as marvellous as that one! You'd be frightened of injuring your delicate pureblood hands," Zabini grins, finally managing to haul himself back up again with the aid of the sinks next to him. "Who did manage to give you that beauty?"

"Why do you care? You have been cruelly laughing at my misfortune for the past fifteen minutes." And, yes, I know I sound like a petulant child.

"I want to send them flowers."

Eurgh. "Well, aren't you a witty one."

"Who was it?"

I turn myself to face my reflection again and as I am miserably examining the damage, I mutter under my breath, "Longbottom."

"Who? I can't hear you when you mumble. Enunciate, boy!"

"Longbottom, alright?" I say slightly louder, my voice echoing around the bathroom really creepily. "He caught me coming out of Weasley's room topless, and she had tricked me into taking veritaserum…that _cow_. This is all _her fault_."

Zabini's mouth has dropped open. He holds up one hand, and turns to face the wall for a second as if gathering his thoughts, then his attention turns back to my hideously deformed face. "Did you just say you came out of Weasley's room _topless_? I thought the plan was that you blow up the Head's dorm and then _run for it_…not _strip_."

I sigh heavily. "Well, we clearly didn't think that plan through well enough, did we?"

"Goyle did come up with it….and…_hold on_…" Zabini pauses and his mouth drops open again. He looks at me, and his gasp of realisation turns into the sneakiest grin I have ever seen adorn his Slytherin face. And that is saying something. "That girl is sneakier than even _you_, Malfoy…"

Then he turns and sprints over to the bathroom door. Before he yanks it open he spins around quickly. "See you in Potions."

Everyone around me is going mad!

Oh well. I have more pressing matters. Like that fact that my beauty has been destroyed, perhaps forever.

* * *

I must have done something in my past to anger the Gods. Maybe it was being this darn cute all the time? Or maybe my delightful bum?

Or maybe my astounding intelligence?

Either way, they must hate me, otherwise I would not be stuck walking down to Potions behind one of the most ginger people I will ever see, and one of the most perverted bum-gropers I will ever catch in action.

Like now.

I avert my eyes, just at the moment that Goyle drops into step next to me on one side, and Zabini on the other. "What a lovely view you got yourself here," Zabini inputs sarcastically.

"Can't think why you're walking here…" Goyle grins, pretending to be lost in thought.

"Remind me again why I tolerate the both of you."

"Because without us, your dream of Weasley being your lawfully wedded wife will never come to fruition," Zabini thumps me violently on my back. "We got your back, mate."

To my immense relief, and to escape the agony of being tormented further by these fools that I call my friends, we have finally reached the dungeon and hence our Potions classroom. And all eight of our advanced Potions class are here.

We grab our usual table, and sit down. Zabini and Goyle are muttering between themselves, and apparently bickering, but I am choosing to ignore them. Before they wound my ego further by suggesting that I would ever stoop so low to _marry_ a _Weasley_.

I would only ever marry a Weasley if I had a burning desire to kill myself, because it would be an effective method of suicide.

Firstly, I would have to be married to Weasley, which in itself would be the death of me. She would murder me for not putting the toilet seat down or something.

Secondly, my father would avada me on the spot if I even suggested the idea of it.

Thirdly, my grandfather would bring himself back to life and haunt me until I jumped off a cliff just to escape his torment.

And, at any rate, I am _seventeen_, therefore I do not need to be thinking about _marriage_ at this time of my life. I intend to be a perpetual bachelor.

Marriage is for losers.

"Mr Malfoy, would you care to stop giving the board angry stares? I have told you to divide into partners," Professor Field says, grumpily shuffling over to my desk and threatening to hit me over the head with his Potions ladle.

"Yes sir," I mutter in reply, and then turn to my left, where Zabini is sitting.

Or, where Zabini _was_ sitting beforehand. Now he is sitting on my right, chopping stuff up with Goyle.

"Hello? Who am I supposed to go with if you two idiots are working together?"

Zabini grins. Goyle grins even more.

The only other person standing awkwardly without a partner is the Potter boy, since Weasley has abandoned him to copulate with Longbottom in front of our very eyes.

I lift up my Potions textbook and my quill - I don't bother with bags, they twist your spine and leave you crippled before you even hit thirty. Just look at Weasley. She already resembles a hunch-backed hag. I saunter over to Potter's desk and drop my book down on the table in between him and Weasley on the _Gryffindor table_. I feel like I am abandoning my heritage and all the my ancestors fought for.

"Howdy partner," I greet him politely. He throws me an odd look. I suppose he still thinks I am weird after my shouting on the train and him over hearing and all. "So…fabric dissolving solution it is…do you want to get the snail slime, or shall I?"

Potter gives me one long calculating stare, and then pushes over a jar labelled: _SNAIL SLIME – DO NOT EAT_. Getting slightly freaked out by his strange silence, I turn back to the book and run a slender finger down the list of ingredients.

"Are you seriously going to work with me?" he demands quietly, so that Weasley and Longbottom's dorky flirting isn't interrupted.

"I seriously am. The time has come for inter-house unity," I inform him, holding a hand to my chest and fake-wiping a tear from my eye.

He is quiet for a few seconds, then gives me a warm smile. "So who punched your lights out?"

I groan – is _everyone_ going to ask? "Why do you care?"

"I want to send them flowers."

It is this sentence, which reminds me of my dearest best mate (who incidentally _abandoned me_), that makes me forget for a second that I am talking to Potter.

"You see that disgusting Herbology-lover telling your cousin to grasp his ladle…" I pause for dramatic effect, and we both turn to Longbottom holding out the Potions ladle and, indeed, asking Weasley to 'grasp it and perform the function she is so talented at' and failing to realise the…indecency of this statement.

Weasley, however, notices it and her ears turn red. "What?"

"You're a gifted Potions stirrer," Longbottom informs her. "What did you think I was on about?"

Potter grimaces at this sickening scene, but then faces me with a bit of a grin. "Longbottom punched you?"

"Don't ask why," I tell him, before he can bring it up. "It is agonising enough to know that that buffoon with soil instead of brains has managed to wound me."

Potter chortles for a second, then realises he was laughing at something I said. "Uh…that was quite…err…amusing."

"It's alright Potter, you can admit that I'm as witty as everyone says I am."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter says, but his tone is lacking venom. "Anyway, since Longbottom has 'wounded' you, perhaps you would be interested in joining me and my cousin, Hugo, in a little…well, a little surprise we have lined up for him."

"It is a nice surprise? 'Cos I don't like them."

Potter grins. "It's nice for_ us_, but…err…less so for him."

"Well, then," I say. "I believe we have ourselves an accord." And I hold out my hand for him to shake, which he dutifully does, with a shifty smirk.

Who knew, eh? The famous Harry Potter's son a closet Slytherin.

* * *

"Albus? Why the hell is that pointy-faced git and his cronies joining us in our secret meeting? Do you not understand the concept of _secret_ or something?" A skinny, gangly ginger boy screeches as we enter their 'secret lair' as Potter called it. "Shall I explain it to you?"

Potter rolls his eyes. "Longbottom punched Malfoy in the face. Malfoy is vain and therefore will want revenge, therefore we can use his slimy Slytherin habits to bring down H.B."

"I like your thinking, cousin. But how can we be sure that we can trust these poncy twits?" The skinny boy says, eyeing Zabini, Goyle and I with the most disgusted look I have seen. It reminds me of Weasley actually.

Perhaps this is her brother.

"Aaah, the elusive Hugo Weasley. Can I just say your last little joke to turn the food at the Slytherin table into concrete was truly _inspired_," I say, sending him my most charming smile.

Hugo Weasley snorts. "Flattery will get you nowhere, albino face." He steps closer to me, perhaps in an attempt to look like he is squaring me up to fight me, or such the like. "And…hold on…do you…do you have a black eye?" He now grins.

Oh, this is just getting painful.

"Yes, I have a black eye. Yes, the black eye was implemented by soil-for-brains. No, I do not know how to get rid of it. And YES it is causing my ego considerable damage," I spurt out, hopefully answering all questions that he would ever think of asking, so I do not have to go throw the agony of discussing my tarnished appearance any longer.

"Soil-for-brains? I like it…it's a bit better than H.B. as a secret code name," Hugo says, nodding appreciatively at me.

"What did H.B stand for, anyway? Herbology Berk?" Goyle asks, directing her question at Potter.

"No, actually. It stands for Head Boy."

Zabini snorts. "Your originality is _killing me_."

I sigh deeply. "As pleasant as this little exchange is…shall we get to work? We have a bum-groping mandrake-loving Gryffindor to dispose of."

We all gather around a desk in the abandoned classroom they have commandeered, and Potter whips out a map, and various letters from someone called 'Uncle George'. A relation perhaps?

"Hold on. Before we start," Goyle pipes up, flicking her light brown slightly. "We know Malfoy's motive, and as Malfoy's friend we support his motive, but what is your reason for wanting to bring down Longbottom?"

"Hello? Did you not see him copulating with our dear Rosie at the platform before school started?" Potter says, as if stating the obvious. "He's a prat. And as a loyal family member it our duty to deal with him."

Remind me never to date a member of the ginger clan.

"That and our dad offered me 50 galleons if I could get them to break up." Hugo grins.

Potter turns to him. "You _arse_. You never told me that!"

* * *

"Everything is in order, over."

"Roger that. Any sign of SFB? Over."

"SFB? Over."

"Soil-for-brains you brainless oaf. Check the map. Over."

"He's on his way. But…Rose is in tow. Over."

"Rose needs a codename. Over."

Zabini drops down in the seat next to me and casts me a strange look. "Why do you two keep saying 'over' after every sentence? Your sitting next to each other not talking over a secret intercom system."

"Please punch your disgusting Slytherin buddy. Over."

"Roger that." BOOF.

"Malfoyyyyy? _What was that for_?"

Hugo comes running over, and chooses to pointedly ignore Zabini who is rolling around on the floor in mock anguish. "RED ALERT! SFB is arriving in roughly twelve seconds. I repeat…_twelve seconds_! Everyone to your positions."

Goyle turns to Potter. "Don't you think he'd make a good army general?" Potter grins in reply and they run each run off to their designated positions.

I give Zabini a hearty kick and he stops flailing around. "What?"

"Positions, you muppet."

He jumps up and jogs over to behind the suit of armour that is his 'station', and I take my position standing next to the Head's common room when Longbottom and Weasley round the corner (thankfully not holding hands).

Excellent. This is going to plan. All I need to do is distract Weasley so that Longbottom is the first person to walk into that room.

"Ah! Weasley! Just the person I needed to talk to!"

Longbottom narrows his eyes. "What do _you _need to talk to Rose about?"

"I just had a question about the homework for…" Quick! Think of a subject that Longbottom doesn't do. "…Arithmancy." Well, Longbottom doesn't do that, but unfortunately neither do I.

Oh well. Let's just hope Weasley isn't quite up to par this afternoon and doesn't pick up on it.

"Whatever, I need to quickly talk to McGonagall, I'll be back in two minutes," he says, directing the last statement at Weasley, who is too busy giving me a shrewd look to even glance his way.

Oh dear. That means that Longbottom is not going into the Head's common room. Which means…

"_Divergus_," Weasley mutters at the portrait, and it swings open. "Get in there you little rat."

"Err…I'd rather not."

"I know. You don't do Arithmancy. You clearly wanted to distract me so that Longbottom would be the first person to walk into this room. I have no idea how you have managed to charm it without access to the password...but you are going to walk in it first."

Bugger.

At that moment Potter comes tearing down the hallway. "ABORT! I just saw Longbottom go into McGonagall's office! Over."

"Albus?" Weasley says, shocked. "You're in cahoots with _Malfoy_?"

"I wouldn't say 'cahoots' exactly…"

"That's it." Weasley snaps, pulling out her wand. "_Accio Scorpius Malfoy's wand_." My wand flys out my sleeve, scratching me on the hand as it does so and she catches it in her other hand, whilst pointing her wand at me with the other one.

I hate this girl.

"Go on then. Walk in there."

"Listen, Rosie, there's really no charm on the Head's common room…that wasn't the prank," Albus says, trying to sound calm and unabashed but panicking slightly. As much as we used to be enemies, we have bonded over loathing Longbottom, and would not wish the prank we were going to pull on Longbottom on each other.

"Well then, it won't matter if he walks in there, will it?" She takes a step forward and jabs me violently in the chest. "Get in there."

I take a deep breath and move three steps back at which point I step into the boundary of the charm we had placed there. Instantly I am drenched from head to toe.

But not with water. Oh no. What do you think we are? Pansies? We are hardcore Slytherin boys (well, two of us are) we do not just pour water on people's heads.

We rigged up a cauldron of our fabric dissolving potion that we made this morning in Potions to drop on the first person that walks into the Head's common room.

I feel a strange tingling sensation and watch unhappily as my expensive pure cashmere sweater appears to just melt off me, closely followed by my trousers and we must have made it quite strong because a second later my shoes have vanished too.

Weasley is gawping red-faced.

"Looks like it's your lucky day," I say, smiling. Hoping my faux confidence will stop me dying of embarrassment, like Weasley currently is. Potter, however, is laughing his little head off, and so are Zabini, Hugo and Goyle who have joined him.

Could this get worse?

"Malfoy? What is it with you and getting naked in front of my girlfriend?"

Longbottom: 2, Malfoy: 0

"And, Rosie? Do you want to stop gawking at him?"

I think I deserve a point for that.

Longbottom: 2, Malfoy: 1

* * *

**A review would be lovely :)**


	3. Chapter 3

"Detention, Malfoy. And if you value your life I suggest you haul your scrawny arse out of here as fast it will move." Longbottom raises his wand in a miserable attempt to look intimidating. But am I intimidated? Of course not. He is a measley Gryffindor and I am a mighty Slytherin. A mighty _naked_ Slytherin. "And have no doubt that Proffessor McGonagall will be hearing about this. Not to mention the entire student body."

I grin. "Longbottom, it may shock you to hear, being the oddly frigid plant-snogger that you are, but most of the student body will actually _want _to hear of this." I throw Weasley a side-long glance and notice that her cheeks are scarlet. "Tales of my nakedness in the school magazine would rake in phenomenal sales."

Zabini chuckles ominously, and Longbottom looks rather sickened by the thought. And is it just me or is he glowing green with envy? My abs are enough to make a grown man weep in self-pity, and seeing as Longbottom is clearly 75 percent woman his self-confidence is already low enough.

Green is certainly not his colour. In fact, nothing is his colour.

Why is Weasley dating him again?

Longbottom's mouth opens and closes rapidly before he thinks of a comeback that he deems worthy enough. "Didn't you listen to what I said? Get out of _our_ common room."

It annoys me that he says 'our' in a way that implies him and Weasley are married or something. I don't really know why it annoys me. Perhaps it's the tone of voice he says it in.

"So, you expect me to wander through the corridors of school starkers?" I demand.

Longbottom folds his arms and looks immensely chuffed with himself. Git. "It's as much as you deserve, you foul little Slytherin. Perhaps a naked frolick around the school will teach you a lesson."

I turn my eyes to my friends in the hope that one of them will lend me some clothing. Turns out that Hugo and Albus scarpered ten seconds earlier and Zabini and Goyle were also about to make a dash for it. "You honestly think I'm walking around school with you and your naked butt? Dream on!" Zabini says, giving me a wink and a grin. He is enjoying this far too much for his own good. I'm so going to get him back. "People already think I'm gay as it is, and I'm not encouraging those rumours."

I can't help the chuckle that forces its way up my throat. "People think you're gay?"

"Yeah...it's something to do with the side of my head that my parting's on," Zabini adds conversationally before being dragged out of view by Goyle, presumably to the Slytherin common room, leaving me alone with a beetroot-red Weasley and a leprechaun-green Longbottom (out of jealousy...you know).

This is not awkward at all.

"See you at dinner then," I smile at the two of them before strolling calmly out of the corridor, trying not to think about the hundreds of students I could potentially bump into on the way to my common room.

Shit.

The head's common room is on the seventh floor. The Slytherin common room is in the dungeons. And I'm going to have to go down the main staircase.

I've reached the end of the corridor, narrowly avoiding being groped by a homosexual suit of armour, and dodging behind a gargoyle to avoid a couple of fourth years, when a pair of trousers gets thrown at me. Closely followed by a pair of boxers that read 'ENTER THE DEVIL'S SNARE IF YOU DARE'.

I look up to find an apologetic Weasley.

"What's this about?" I ask. They must be cursed or something. Why else would she be giving me them?

"I stole them out of Ernest's washing pile. I thought you'd appreciate the underwear," she says, bursting into a fit of giggles.

I hide behind the gargoyle and quickly pull on the Devil's snare boxers in relief. I am trying my hardest not to think of that fact that Longbottom has probably worn this pair of underwear. I pull the trousers on quickly too, though they fall a bit low down due to Longbottom's slight chubbiness.

"What about a shirt?" I ask without thinking.

"Hello? I risk life and limb so that you don't flash the entire school your trouser ferret, and this is how you repay me?" she says sarcastically. "Besides, I couldn't find one."

I lift my eyebrows.

"Is that Weasley-code for 'I just want to see you topless for longer'."

"No, it's Weasley-code for 'I couldn't find one'." I continue to grin at her as she rolls her eyes at me. "Not everyone wants to see you naked, you know Malfoy. And those of us who have, don't want to repeat the experience."

With this she spins around and begins to march off, before turning around again.

"Oh, and keep the boxers. Ernest won't want them back after you've used them."

"I have a cunning plan."

Zabini groans. "Why is it that whenever you say that I get a sudden sense of foreboding?"

"It's because," Goyle says, peering up from the book on Quidditch formations she's reading, "The last two cunning plans he came up with, ended up with him being punched in the face and having his clothes melt off him. Thus making his plans neither cunning or in fact with any positive result at all."  
"No result? What are you talking about? Weasley's given me a pair of underwear," I remind them proudly.

"Yeah, a pair of her _boyfriend's_ underwear," Goyle grins. "And if I'm not mistaken they have some have a crude Herbology innuendo on them."

I sit down on the floor. "Do you want to know my cunning plan or not?"

"That depends on whether it is cunning or not," Zabini says, rubbing his forehead sleepily. "Did you come up with this cunning plan?"

"Indeed I did. I thought long and hard about it and finally came up with my most cunning plan yet," I inform them, shuffling slightly nearer the fire to warm myself up a bit. All this being naked had left me with a bit of a chill.

Goyle peers up from her book again. "Most cunning plan yet? Doesn't that just mean, most stupid plan yet?"

"None of my plans have been stupid. They've just been..."

"Ill-conceived?"

"Ridiculous?"

"Shockingly flawed?" Goyle puts down her book, deciding that our conversation is more interesting than the fifty greatest dives of the 1987 Quidditch Season.

I look at her darkly. "I was going to say unsuccessful. And besides, just because my last few plans have been unsuccessful doesn't mean this one will be. I have planned this one with astounding prescision."

Goyle swings her legs from the side of the armchair to the floor and leans forward. "Don't you think that the time has come for the cunning plans to be thought up by myself and Zabini?"  
It sounds as though they do not appreciate my talent at coming up with plans. How...ego-crushing.

"It depends. What's your idea?"

"It is surprisingly simple, yet simplicity is what makes it so perfect," Goyle smiles widely, and exchanges a sneaky little look with Zabini.

I fold my arms in defiance. "Tell me it, and then I will make an educated and informed descision as to whose is the best plan."

Goyle slips down from her armchair so she's sitting on the floor next to me. "If we can't drag Weasley away from Longbottom, we have to..."

I jump up. "I know it! I KNOW!" They both sit there silently, encouraging me to continue with their eyes. "We poison him."

"I hadn't actually finished yet, you buffoon. And seeing as I don't want to be expelled, we won't be poisoning anyone." Goyle shakes her head at me and yanks me back down to the ground. "If we can't drag Weasley away from Longbottom, we have to drag Longbottom away from Weasley."  
Zabini's eyebrows furrow, and he raises a finger to indicate that he has found a flaw in this plan. Personally I can't even see that it is a plan, as there has been no planning gone into it. It is just a theory, with no plan attatched. "How do you propose we get him away from her?"  
Goyle smiles the most evil smile I have ever seen grace the face of anyone in Slytherin. "For that, we need to launch our next mission. And it involves..." Goyle reaches into her pocket and pulls out a tiny glass flask of a faintly purple looking liquid, "_...this_."

"And...er...what is 'this'?"

Goyle shoves the flask back in her pocket. "Stolen from my mum's secret supplies, it is. You'll see what it does when we feed it to SFB."  
Zabini frowns again. "SFB?"

"Soil-for-brains. We've been through this Zabini, honestly. You'd make the most useless spy _ever_." Goyle rolls her eyes at Zabini as he 'oh's' in recognition. Then she turns to me. "Your mission, Malfoy, should you choose to accept it, is to make sure that Weasley remains in the library until about ten'o'clock this evening, so that Zabini and I can initiate operation SFB."

"She doesn't need me to make her stay in the library. She'll _voluntarily_ stay there out of love of knowledge absorption."

"Just do it, Malfoy, before I hex you."

_List of things that have definately changed about Rose Weasley_

_1. So far, in the two hours that have passed since I plonked my rather handsome posterior in her nearest vicinity, she has not yet called me any name beginning with P: for example, prat, pillock, poncy pervert...etc. This is an unusual feat on her behalf. I imagine it is a result of excessive cake consumption - she did eat quite a bit at dinner. Not that I was paying attention to her pudding choice, of course. _

_2. I tried to peek at what she was writing before on the pretence of copying it (she had informed me that she was writing a Potions essay) but she refused to let me even copy the title. Though, this may not actually be a change. Maybe I am just not familiar with her strange private study habits._

_3. Her skirt is about five inches higher than it has ever been before. No longer does she resemble a nun that was kicked out of the nunnery for being TOO nun-like. This can only be good news. Though I am going to be honest when I say it is unnerving me a little bit._

_4. She has not mentioned Longbottom's name once. Not even in a try-to-make-Malfoy-jealous context. Very odd._

_5. She just laughed at one of my witty jokes. Now that is a sign of a Weasley gone mad._

_6. I just got a peek of her 'homework'. It is not homework. It is a letter to someone mysteriously named: M. Could this be short for 'Mother'?_

_Or perhaps 'Malfoy'?_

_Or maybe I should just stop dreaming. It most probably is Mother._

_7. She is remaining in the library although she has no homework. Which means...She is clearly choosing MY company over SFB's company! I knew she couldn't resist my unfailing charm!_

_8. I spoke too soon. She is trying to leave now. I must stop her...it's 9:35..._

"Err...You're not allowed to leave the library yet," I inform her in my most business-like tone. It is a complete lie of course. She is perfectly allowed to leave the library whenever she wants, and to be honest there's nothing much I could really do about it. Other than putting her under a full body-bind.

Oh buggerations, the bloody librarians looking this way. Well, that scuppers _that_ little cunning plan there.

"Not allowed? _Not allowed_?" she gives me a withering look. "It's a free world, Malfoy. I can walk out the library door whenever I like."

I shake my head in a serious manner. "Try if you want, but you should know that there's a rampaging hoarde of first years that have been attacking any people from fifth year or above that pass through the Charms corridor."  
"No there's not."

I fold my arms. "Yes, there is. I have heard gruesome tales of lowly sixth years who were cruelly ambushed and taken hostage."

Weasley is silent for a few seconds. "You know, when you lie your left eyebrow twitches a bit." I put a hand over my left eyebrow and eye her in annoyance. How does she even pick up on these things that even my own family members haven't noticed? "Just admit it, you only want me to stay here because you have some secret revenge plot going on and you don't want the Head Girl to find out about it."

"Indeed, I do. Now just stay here, so that my evil revenge plot can take place, and then you can have a go at me later," I inform her, grabbing her arm lightly and trying to pull her back to her chair. She digs her heels into the carpet.

"Detention."

"What?" I exclaim, dropping her arm. "I was lying! I have no secret plot, and even if I did, do you really think that I would admit to it so freely! I am a criminal mastermind."

"You _would_ admit to it freely, because you would be trying to double-bluff me _because_ you are a criminal mastermind," she deduces. Wrongly. "You would think that I wouldn't fall for your admitting the truth, when in reality I can see right through your little plan. You're telling the truth because you think I won't believe you!"

I don't know about you, but I am thoroughly confused right now.

"But then, you might even have thought that I would have worked that out, so then you could have been playing a triple bluff and in fact hiding an ulterior motive whilst pretending to be plotting some ingenious prank, but the ulterior motive is in fact _worse_ than the pretend prank that you have invented to conceal it..."

When she rambles, it is actually quite endearing. Especially since she thinks that I am being entirely serious about this matter. When in fact, I suppose I am plotting a secret plan, but I don't know what that plan is. So therefore I can't be held responsible for its consequences.

"But, you might have thought I would have worked _that_ out, and I would have thought that the ulterior motive is what I should be worried about, when in fact -"  
Now the rambling is getting annoying.

"_Silencio_," I say, before hastily returning my wand to its place of pride up my sleeve.

Weasley is now throwing me a severe death glare.

"It is now my turn to talk, you measley Weasley." A witty bit of alliteration there. "There is no secret plan going on, and personally I am _offended_ that you would jump to that conclusion."

Weasley gives me a look.

"Alright, I suppose it is to be suspected after the common room nakedness stunt, so I'll change that to _mildly _offended. My intentions are entirely honourable. Is it too much to ask that a student can't sit in the library with another student without there having to be something going on?"

Weasley nods and raises her eyebrows.

What is it about her that makes me admit stuff?  
"Fine! There _is_ something going on, but I don't know what it is, so you can torture me all you like, but it'll never work. And you can't give me detention for knowing something was going on but not knowing what it was. So frankly, I'm considering leaving this ghastly library right now. Care to join?"

Weasley wildly indicates that she does not want to join me. So I reach forward and link my arm with hers. She kicks me in the shin in an attempt to get me to let go of her arm, but my toned manly Quidditch arms are no match for a 5ft2 ginger maniac.

"You know, it is actually quite calming walking along with a silent you."

She steps on the back of my foot to stop me walking. I stop, let go of her arm and turn to face her. She gesticulates that she would like to be able to talk again. I feel a little bit bad for rendering her speechless - seeing as her razor sharp insults are the only weapon she has - and I mutter the counter-incantation.

"Detention."

"You see, _this _is why I put that bliddy silencing charm on you! With your frequent cries of detention even McGonagall would get annoyed."

Weasley steps forward, and twiddles her wand in her hand. This cannot be a good sign. She could reduce me to a pile of dust with a well-placed hex, and every one of her hexes _is_ well-placed.

I should not have silenced her.

"You deserve this detention."  
I put my hands up in mock-defence. "In the name of the law, I would like to know the charges against me."

Weasley twiddles her wand a little bit more, and several pink sparks fly out of the end. "The charges? Well, you're an annoying idiot, for starters. And, you have a secret plot going on, AND you silenced a member of the Prefect team. Need I continue?"

I look thoughtful for a second. "Is there any way the charges can be dropped? Perhaps, payment...in the form of..."

"If you say sexual favours, I will charm your hair permanently pink."

* * *

**Let me know what you think, please :) There will hopefully be another chapter on the way soon, and I'll try post it as soon as possible :)**


	4. Chapter 4

I grin widely. "The offers on the table, oh ginger one." She glares at me in the most insulting manner. I am offering her a chance of a lifetime here, and yet she finds it _insulting_. This girl is crazy. "Alright, offer withdrawn. But don't say I didn't warn you about what you're missing."

She folds her arms and regards me in the most disbelieving way. "You haven't warned me what I'll be missing, and I daresay it's not much. Maybe a trip to your personal table at Madame Puddifoots?"

"Oh Please, Ginger, I would never sink so low as _Madame Puddifoots_, that is for weak, lesser men."  
She deftly raises one eyebrow. "So that was your clone I saw in there last year making ga-ga eyes at Alicia Button, was it? And I suppose he struck again with Lydia and Kayleigh from Hufflepuff?"  
"I'm surprised you've paid so much attention to it, Weasley," I say, curling my expression into a trademark smirk. "Wishing you were sitting in their place, I suppose?"

"Actually, no," she snaps back, but I can't help but notice she colours a little bit when I say this.

"Really, Weasley? Really? Because a little birdie told me you've been having innappropriate dreams about me, and I think it's improper for the Head Girl to be lying now, don't you?"  
She raises her wand up into the air again, and I regret making up that spiel about the little birdie. Honestly, you think I really care who she's been having innappropriate dreams about? They're probably about Longbottom, or worse, that bald guy off the cover of Hogwart's A History.

"Firstly, _Malfoy_, there is no rule that says a Head Girl is not allowed to lie. Secondly, I would never wish to be in the place of one of your Puddifoot dates. The only reason I know about it is because I was regularly stood outside there waiting for my cousin to come off one of his equally awful Puddifoot dates."  
The wand lowers.

"I see you're not denying the innappropriate dreams."  
And it's back up again, in prime position to hex off my nether regions, which I must say, I am particularly fond of.

"I was getting there, actually. I have never, and will never, have an inappropriate dream about you, Malfoy. I find you quite vile, and the last thing on my mind when I go to sleep is...inappropriateness and you, alright?"

Silence falls for a second, and Weasley is quite sure that her point has been made fair and square and that she's Queen of all the witty comebacks and intellectual retorts.

That is until I grin and say, "Never say never, Weasley. It may come back to haunt you someday."

The next thing I know, she has uttered some sort of spell and marched off, and looking at my face in a suit of armour (quite annoying really, it sort of distorts my pristine features) I realise that the heartless cow has gone and _turned my hair pink_ just like she threatened to!

That is IT. Now this war has extended. Midgety-Weasley-brains is now involved, and I will stop at nothing to torture her mind (as this is her favourite bodily part - I just know things). And the best way to do this?

Well, my sneaky, conniving, Slytherin mind, thinks a little sleeping draught...with some minor alterations...ought to do the trick.

A quick manipulating cackle later, I jump down the stairs two at a time on the way to the dungeon. Operation Dirty Dreams for Weasley is a GO.

* * *

All the preparations for Operation Dirty Dreams for Weasley are sorted, and I have my secret weapons in my schoolbag. Unfortunately, before this operation can be classified an official GO, I have to green light it with my partners in crime.

Goyle happily informs me that this will complement her plan entirely, and that she is proud of me for embracing my intelligent heritage.

Zabini tells me that I could not of thought of a more perverted plan if I had tried.

This I thank him for. I cannot pass up a compliment on a Wednesday morning. Wednesday's are tough days, but luckily due to a double whammy Longbottom mash-up going on, this Wednesday should be an utter bundle of giggles. For us at least.

I have to say, I was hoping the effects of this super-duper awesome plan of Goyle's would be a little more obvious, but so far all that has occured is that Weasley has plodded into the Great Hall looking a darn sight more miserable than she usually does.

"This plan is clearly awful."

"Au contraire, mon frere. Seeing as non of it's perpetrators are yet naked in front of any individual, I have to say I think it's going rather well. Doesn't Weasley look awfully depressed?" Goyle grins, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice and looking _very_ chuffed with herself.

"I fail to see how this is a good thing. The poor girl might honestly be considering something awful," I glance her direction and observe as she swills her porridge around in her bowl.

Zabini snorts on his fried eggs and bacon. "Awful? What, like jump off the Astronomy tower? Come on, Malfoy. She's probably gutted she had to spend an hour holed up in a library with you annoying the pants off her."

"I did not annoy the pants off her." I defend myself. "She thoroughly enjoyed my company."

"I suppose that is why you came back with pink hair last night?"

Goyle pokes Zabini's hand with a fork. "Watch, you idiot. The fun is about to start."

Both of us look up from our respective breakfasts to see a _very_ pompous looking Longbottom strut happily into the room. Closely followed by four of my ex-girlfriends who appear to be fawning over him.

"Why is Lydia James asking Longbottom to sign her cleavage?" I demand off of Goyle. Goyle sits there and grins happily.

"Attractiveness potion. I have just made Longbottom irresistable to every female in this hall for 24 hours."

Zabini coughs. "Is it just me that can see the teeny-tiny flaw in that plan, or..."

"There is no flaw, Zabini. It is simple. All these skanky girls are now dying for Longbottom to give them a peek of his Devil's snare, there is no way he will be able to resist them all. Therefore, he is bound to have a lustful frenzy of passion-"

"Lustful frenzy of passion? This sounds like a marketing ploy."

Goyle ignores me. "-and will inevitably cheat on Rosie-darling. She will break up with him, and BINGO. She is single for the taking."

Zabini shakes his head solemnly. "You know what, Lizzy Goyle. You've changed. You used to be so sweet and innocent, and now look at you! You're conquering the world with your chauvinistic manly personality. I am so proud!"  
"Shut up Zabby."

* * *

I am clever enough to snag the stool next to Weasley in Herbology. This is mainly because Longbottom is too busy being fawned over by the Herbology Professor, Professor Kilton.

"Kilton looks like she wants to grope your boyfriend."

Weasley swivels on her stool to look at me with a sharp, nasty glare. "Why is it you can find something inappropriate to say about everything?"

"I am just talented in the way of inappropriateness."

To her intense embarrasment, and my intense humour, Weasley blushes from her chin to where her ginger hair grows from her head (ie. her hairline). Even her _ears_ are blushing. She peers down at her textbook on the table, before raising her gaze up to me. "Listen, that little birdie you were talking about yesterday..."

"Little birdie?" I ask. Then I remember, the little birdie of the dodgy dreams persuasion. "Oh _that_ little birdie. What about him...or her?"

"Who...er...Who was it?" She looks very uncomfortable right now. Perhaps I shall put her out of her misery.

"There was no little birdie, I made it up. But seeing as you were so vehementally protesting against said accusations of non-existant birdie, I'm starting to think that there was a birdie that did not in fact confide in me..."

Weasley blushes even harder.

"Ahhh, you've had the dream I see."

Now the blush looks more like angry-blush. "Dream? Dream on, Malfoy, I haven't had any dreams."

"You've never had a dream?"

"Not about you, No. So stop badgering me about it."

Luckily for us, Kilton is still eye-stroking her boyfriend and so I am free, free as a bird, to badger her about this dream. Particularly as it turns out she has had a dream, and I am very interested as to know about it.

"So what was I wearing in this particular dream?" I smirk widely, and raise my left eyebrow. "Or was I not wearing anything at all? You can tell me, Weasley, I promise not to smirk."

Weasley rolls her eyes. "You're smirking now."

"Focus on the clothing. Or the lack of."

Weasley's blush fades a bit as she puts on her head girl voice and snaps, "Do you really want to know, Malfoy?" I nod happily. "And it was not a dream, it was a _nightmare_, just to make that absolutely clear."

I grin excitedly and flash her a dodgy smirk. "I can't believe you're discussing your dirty dreams with me!"

"Nightmares, Malfoy. _Nightmares_."

"Weasley, was I wearing clothing, in this 'nightmare'?"

Weasley blushes furiously. "Of course you were, I'm not sick-minded. I have decency even in my drea-nightmares. And, anyway, it was a dream about the exams, where I was sitting behind you. That's it. No indecency."

"I was naked, wasn't I?" I mock-sigh and shake my head. "Now, now, Weasley. I knew it was wrong of me to melt my clothes off of myself that fateful day."

Weasley interrupts me with a glare. "Last week."

"That fateful day last week. But, you can't resort to _dreams_ to express your urges Weasley. Especially not with your weirdo boyfriend sleeping soundly and dreaming of innocent things, like knotgrass, in the next room."

Weasley does not say anything for a minute, but then she punctuates the silence with a, frankly juvenile, comeback. "You were _not_ naked."

"I was partially naked at least, though? I can't believe I'd ever appear in anyone's dream any less than partially naked."

"Malfoy, I have a boyfriend and therefore have no need to imagine you naked. End of conversation. Now, focus on Herbology."

"How can I when that look in Kinton's eyes suggests she wants to jump your boyfriend's bones?"

* * *

**This one is a little shorter than usual, so major apologies and whatnot for that. But I hope you enjoy it anyways, it was one of those chapters where it sort of wrote itself, and Malfoy's little ego jumped out for a little stroking at the thought of a girl having dreams about him.**

**FYI, Rose's dreams about him were NOT dodgy. She was just worried that he would get the wrong impression and never let her forget it.**

**:) love G**


	5. Chapter 5

"We want in."

I am struggling to calculate exactly how mini-Weasley and not-so-mini-Potter have managed to slither their way into the Slytherin common room, when even I have trouble remembering where it is, so I am not quick enough to answer them.

Goyle, however, is on the ball. "What _are_ you on about?"

Hugo Weasley puffs up his chest importantly. "You seem to think that we will let you join in on our pranks against that spawn of a mandrake, and we won't want to join in yours. Well we do."

Zabini eyes them strangely. "What prank?" Then he remembers. "OH! The super-awesome-magic-potion prank?"

"Finally. Young Zabini is blessed with the gift of memory," Al Potter mumbles.

Hugo ignores him and continues. "We know something fishy is going on. And seeing as it involves Longbottom, we can only assume you are the perpetrators."

I smile politely. "You're quite scary for a 15-year-old, Weasley. I admire that strength."  
Four pairs of eyes simultaneously give me a look suggesting they think I am completely mental. "I'm guessing Malfoy wasn't the brains behind this particular operation," Hugo deduces. I get the impression he has just made a guess that my IQ is not even greater than 12.

Goyle pats me patronizingly on the back. "You assume correctly. Mr-Clothes-Melter here decided it was about time to let the professionals do their job."

Al immediately snorts unnattracively. More unnattractively than I believe I have ever seen, even from someone as unnattractive as a Gryffindor. "Professional! HA!"

Looking confused, Goyle stands up. "What do you mean? We are professional. Firstly, no one is naked. Secondly, the Weasley-Longbottom duo is experiencing tension..."

"Tension? There is no tension, because there is no relationship," Hugo admits. "I have to congratulate you on that one, though it means technically my dad can't pay me that 50 galleons. The issue I have with your professionalism is simple." He rolls his eyes delicately. "Every girl in the school is fawning after _Longbottom_."

"So, that is easily solveable."

"_Longbottom_, Goyle. Bloody _Longbottom_." Hugo looks at her wide-eyed. "Herbology Boy. Head Berk. Soil For Brains. Need I go on?"

I smile. "So excluding the fact that every female is now in love with Longbottom, it has been a complete success! SFB is no longer tainting your delightful cousin, who incidentally turned my hair pink, and we will pretend this was your doing so that you can get your 50 galleons." Clapping my hands together, I grin widely at them. "It's win-win!"

"It is true, my darling sister is no longer Longbottom's girlfriend, but surely your little 'make all the girls love Longbottom' means that she's still in love with him!" The look Hugo gives me suggests that he doesn't think there is any solution to this dastardly problem.

But he forgets. He is talking to Scorpius Malfoy: a genius, a hunk and above all, an entrepeneur in the ways of sneakiness and plan-creating. Because I have a plan. A good plan.

I think it is a good plan anyway.  
"Aha! I have a solution!"

Goyle groans and puts her head in her hands.  
"Some other guy drinks the potion, so everyone falls in love with him and stops being in love with Longbottom!"

Silence falls for a minute. Goyle looks like she wants to put me in a home for stupid people who are particularly stupid. Al Potter looks like he is deeply contemplating this ingenius plan, and I thank him internally for his faith in my immense intelligence. Hugo looks like he severely needs the bathroom. And Zabini looks like his birthday has just come early.

"I will do it!" Zabini says jumping up. "I will take this one for the team. It is a hard decision and I have thought long and hard about it, but I am willing to put my life on the line." He dramatically clutches a hand to his chest above his heart, and mock-wipes an invisible tear from under his eye.

"That is stupid."

Clearly a statement from Goyle, and nothing less than I expected.

"We can't give someone else the potion, because there is no garuntee they will prefer this new person any more than Longbottom and they may end up just being in love with the two." Goyle says maturely, but the slight raising of her eyebrows and the hint of a smile on her lips tells me that I have given her a better idea. "But...we might be able to work something out that will counteract the potion."

Hugo blinks. "I don't understand where you're going."

Goyle grins, and chuckles a bit. "I am a genius! Longbottom is ugly right?" A general consensus loudly erupts from all of us, and Goyle looks a little taken-aback that we feel so strongly on the matter. "So if we plonk his ugly self right next to a specimen of male beauty then frankly, potion or not, the girls will prefer the better looking one."

Al Potter still doesn't look like he understands. "But, won't the potion just overrule that?"

"Nah," Goyle shakes her head. "The potion makes you fancy someone, but you can still find other people attractive. It basically just makes you have a crush on them, like a superficial crush. So, if you just swap the superficial crush to someone else..."

Hugo nods seriously. "The question is, what guy do we use?"

"That is not the question." Goyle corrects him with a Slytherin-special smirk. "The real question is, which _guys_, plural, do we use?"

A light of dawning echoes on mine, Al, Hugo and Zabini's faces. But my light of dawning is for another reason altogether. It has just occured to me, you see, that whilst this morning in Herbology every girl was mooning over Longbottom and his planting techniques, there was one girl that wasn't.

There was one girl who was far too occupied discussing dirty dreams.

The same girl was definately not wildly crushing on her boyfriend who had the male equivalent of heat.

"So, what's the answer?"

* * *

I am damn hot.

Even with after an hour's worth of Quidditch practise and bits of mud smeared onto my face. In fact, I shall be honourable just this once and say that all of the gentlemen in my direct vicinity are all somewhat attractive.

Just I am more so. Or I like to think I am anyway.

You see, Goyle's little theory of 'which guys' brought us to the direct solution of: Seven fit lads from across the year in various houses (all of whom were willing to participate owing to them also not being happy that all the girls in the school fancy Longbottom), One Quidditch practise to make us look swelteringly hot and Seven sets of very tight Quidditch clothing. A bit too tight, in fact. My nether regions are rather pressed for space, but let's not go there.

If I was a girl I would be near to swooning right now. Fortunately, I am not gay or female, and so I do not feel the need to faint or anything similar. I am just begging to all the founders of Hogwarts that this will work. I cannot cope for another...um...15 hours with Longbottom being top of the proverbial food chain. I cannot!

So here we are. The doors to the Great Hall, where the clatter of cutlery and the slow hum of chatter can be heard seeping through into the Entrance Hall. The benefit of having 'The Hot Seven' as Goyle named us, from all of the houses, means that there is an even scattering across the hall, thus meaning most girls will be very close to one of our beautiful male bodies.

Hence: destruction of the potion's effects.

I turn around as we all congregate in the Entrance Hall, to give my 'war speech'. "Alright lads. This is it. You know the drill. Your job is to make as many of the girls in that hall swoon as possible. And preferably direct some of the torso-action towards the female staff members, however disgusting that is, otherwise Gryffindor will win the House Cup again."

"OI!" Al Potter interrupts. "I resent that!"

I do not know why Goyle picked him for 'The Hot Seven'. As far as I am concerned he is a scrawny little Harry Potter clone.

Well, maybe more muscly than scrawny, and more tall than litte. But whatever.

Zabini giggles like a little girl. He has been chosen for this too, though on my suggestion as Goyle was less eager, and for him I can imagine that this is the best day of his short Pizza-munching life.

"Fight well, lads." I lift my broomstick into the air. "For GIRLS!"

"That's a bit lame," Josh King from Ravenclaw says, shaking his mane of brown hair. Then he shrugs, deciding he doesn't really care if its lame or not and lifts his broom in the air with a resounding shout of 'FOR GIRLS!'. He is closely copied by the other five of 'The Hot Seven'.

"Go!" I say, and running a hand through my hair I turn towards the door and purposefully stride through it, taking great care to look as dashing as possible.

As Zabini and Ian Hope are covering the Slytherin table, I decide to aim for the Gryffindor table, as the only Gryffindor member of 'The Hot Seven' is Al and frankly I think he may need back-up. I aim straight away for the collection of gingers near the teacher's table, and plonk myself down next to Weasley. The Weasley. Rose Weasley.

She catches sight of me and visibly gulps. "Uh."

This is the first time in my life I have seen her looking stupid.

The ginger sitting opposite me, I gather that it is Lily Potter, drops her mouth open. "Holy Merlin." She honestly has no regard for the fact that she is blatantly ogling my devilishly handsome self.

I flash her a dangerously handsome smile. I am rather enjoying this. It is not as though I can usually evoke this sort of response from an entire family who has sworn to hate me. "I just got back from training," I inform them, reaching across the table for the dish of lasagna.

Before either of them can formulate an answer (which, seeing as they are still in shock after realising my immense beauty, will probably take a while) a loud voice has interrupted the hall. It is Longbottom, addressing the school from the doors of the Great Hall.

"Those of you who have just come back from Quidditch Practice, I have been asked by the caretaker, FIlch, for you to return to your dormitories as you are dirtying the hall." He sends a very disgusted glare in my direction.

I see Zabini stand up from the Slytherin table, and watch as he removes his shoulder pads from his Keeper's Quidditch kit. "That's OK, Head Boy. I'll just take my kit off and scourgify it, save the trouble of walking back, you know."

Soil-for-brains just makes things easier for us.

Goyle chooses this moment to burst into hysterical giggles, and I see her duck under the table to shield the hall from her immense laughing fit. Meanwhile, Zabini slips his Quidditch shirt off, holds it out in front of him and mutters a quick _Scourgify_.

Every girl on the Slytherin on the table is transfixed on his abs.

On the Hufflepuff table, the two representatives of 'The Hot Seven' are doing exactly the same thing as Zabini, and Josh King from Ravenclaw is also joining in. All of them, Zabini included, have opted for the 'leave shirt off for maximum effect' option, and thankfully have decided that removing their trousers would be pushing the boundaries a little too far. Al Potter, who is sitting a few seats down from me on the Gryffindor table (so much for equal distribution) hisses at me. "Malfoy."

I face him. "What, Potter?"

"Shouldn't we do it too?" He glances nervously round the table, where he is getting several looks (mainly from girls, though worryingly, a few guys in there too) wondering why he isn't removing the old Quidditch shirt.

"Of course!" I whisper back.

Across the table from me, Lily Potter is staring at me wide-eyed, but I fix my gaze on Weasley instead. Hooking my fingers under the bottom of my shirt I deftly remove it and scourgify it. Weasley looks like she wants to die.

"PUT YOUR TOPS BACK ON!" Longbottom screeches from the door, the reality of what he had just started sinking in. But no longer is every female eye in the school on him. In fact, no one's eyes are on him. Apart from the fact that there are seven very attractive topless males in the hall, the Hogwart's Great Hall has returned to its usual state. And Longbottom is back at the bottom of the boyfriend pecking order.

Ignoring Longbottom's insistant pleas for clothing our beautious abdomens, I target a salt sprinkler on the other side of Weasley, and lean across her to reach it. "Sorry."

I think my bicep nearly knocked her out.

Yes, they are that big and manly.

This dinner is going to be interesting. Though I am quite worried about Weasley's face. It has gone so red, I think she might blow up in a minute.

* * *

After dinner, a congregation of 'The Hot Seven' plus Goyle and Hugo occurs in the hallway just off from the Entrance Hall. After a few exchanges of congratulations on a job well done, the numbers dwindle, until the plan-gang are all that remain.

I give Goyle a high-five. "Nice one, Goyle! Not that you didn't enjoy it yourself!" Goyle looks pretty chuffed with herself as she happily accepts all of our adoring praise.

"SO. This was one of _your_ sneaky little plans was it?"

I hear Weasley's dulcet tones emerge from behind us.

Closely followed by Zabini's cry of 'SCATTER!', and the sound of footsteps running in all directions.

Once again, my heartless, cruel friends have abandoned me in a state of undress in front of a not-much-pleased Weasley.

Am I cursed? Truely. I must be. Otherwise these ghastly incidents would not keep happening to me. And I would not keep finding myself in a situation in which Weasley has the wrath of her wand at her disposal. If she curses my hair pink again, she will _pay_. More than Longbottom has paid for his crime of...erm...being Longbottom.

"Detention."

Again? That girl cannot control her detention tone.

"For being naked _again_. You seriously cannot keep your clothes on, can you?"

I step forward and swing my shirt onto my shoulder. "Are you honestly trying to tell me that this..." I indicate my god-like abs, "...isn't something you want to see, yet again?"

She raises her eyebrows, and almost looks like she's going to laugh. It seems the effect I had on her at dinner has worn off. Shame. It was quite enjoyable really watching her squirm with embarrasment as my oodles of male beauty. "Really, Malfoy, as much as you like to think that every single girl in the school stays awake at night wishing you would voluntarily strip in front of them, that is not actually the case. Some of us prefer intellectually stimulating boyfriends."

"I suppose, your intellect is the only thing Longbottom _would_ stimulate."

Weasley looks as though she is struck between punching me in the face with sheer disapproval and laughing her tiny ginger mind off. "Not only is that a disgusting thing to say, it is also irrelevant. Longbottom isn't my boyfriend."

"Did his sickening fetish for Fanged Geraniums finally drive you round the bend? Or was it his frequent urges to bond with Gurdyroots?" I am very, very witty.

Weasley wisely chooses to ignore this comment. "Malfoy, I know you were disturbingly jealous of Longbottom, but he's a nice guy. Even if he _does_ feel the need to get it on with Lauren Finnegan when we're going out."

"I'm sorry, Weasley." I say. Because it seems like the sort of thing a mature, level-headed adult man would say. She gives me a funny look. "I did warn you about his nasty venomous tentacula-like tendencies."

"No you didn't. You told me you didn't want to watch him grope me in public."

I point at her in agreement. "Exactly. Venomous tentacula-like tendencies! And he's ugly as hell."

"If he's that ugly then why was the whole school in love with him today?" The look she is giving me implies that she knows that somehow I am behind all this nonsense that has been going down today. I am actually flattered that she thinks I would be able to achieve such mayhem. "Even Professor Kinton wanted to 'jump his bones' as you so delicately phrased it."

I smile guiltily. "I may have been involved in that little...mishap. But it wasn't just me! It was Goyle and Zabini as well! And your sneaky little brother, who in my opinion would make a brilliant mafia don, if it weren't for the fact he's as ginger as a fox who jumped in a barrel of orange paint."

The corner of her mouth twitches as she strains not to laugh.

"ROSE?"

"Bugger. Bugger. That's Longbottom!" She cries. It makes me surprisingly happy to see her not so keen so enjoy the soily-ness of his company. The happiness is all gone however when she throws me head-first into a cupboard so that my heard collides sharply with a shelf and broom pokes me in the gut.

Once again she is the perpetrator behind some serious damage to my facial area. If this is permanent bruising, I will be even unhappier than when Long-arse punched me that time.

Oh. It pains me even now thinking of the mess he made of my stunning features.

"Coudln't you have politely asked me to enter this cupboard, with the pushing forward-slash hauling?" I demand, a hand automatically going up to my head, where I realise that the mud from earlier on's Quidditch practise has actually _congealed_.

I really must look like the wrong end of a toilet brush right now.

But a cute toilet brush of course.

Weasley pokes me with her wand. "Some things can't be expressed with physical violence."

"Anything else physical, I'm your man, love. But violence? My divine looks really can't take this battering!"

Another sharp jab to the stomach. "Can you really not keep your hormones at bay for _one measley second?_ Just shut up, before Ernest hears us and turns on pleading mode again."

"Pleading mode? I didn't realise he had another mode from: boring."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Actually, I suppose there is Herbology-dork-mode."

"Shut."

"And Ugly-Troll-Mode."

"Up."

"And..."

She lifts her wand and mutters '_Silencio'_ at me under her breath. So, now I am speechless (through no fault of my own), covered in mud, and trapped in a cupboard with probably the most mental person alive on this planet.  
Mental...and very close.

A bit too close in fact.

What am I supposed to do in this situation? I can't move back, because as an alive human being I do not have the ethereal ability to walk through solid objects. I can't move forward because some accidental Weasley-body-grazing may occur. I cannot move up, because I can't fly. Obviously. And I cannot pass go, because...

Well, I'm not playing monopoly. That's why.

So I do the only thing that occurs to me in that moment, when Troll-boy's footsteps are echoing around in the corridor outside. Other than self-imploding and thus destroying him.

I 'accidentally' touch her bum.

* * *

**Another update is here :) I have to say, this was a fun chapter to write. If not a very amusing chapter to write. **

**:)**

**Let me know what you think in a review. I think I will be continuing this story for another couple of chapters...my mind is running out of cool pranks to play, so if any of you have any ideas that you wouldn't mind me using, let me know. That way the battle of Malfoy vs. Longbottom can continue for longer!**

**G =]**


	6. Chapter 6

This was a mistake. The touching Weasley's bum part, I mean. I'm really not sure what my mind was trying to achieve by doing it, though I imagine Weasley begging for my undying love was somewhere in that image, but it certainly was not successful.

Initially Weasley appears to assume either that it was an accident and therefore is irrelevant or that it was not my hand but in fact a broom, or some other inanimate object.

So thus I think I am safe.

Or I believe myself to be safe, and so I say a quick prayer to old Merlin in his mighty chair on high to thank him that she did not spin around and hex my hand off. And old Merlin-pants must have granted more than one wish as not a second later we hear the unmistakeable shuffle of the Head Boy off to search for the girl that is hiding in a cupboard.

This is the moment when she turns on me.

"Listen, Malfoy. I am well aware of the stigma surrounding these cupboards, but frankly if you refrain from succumbing to the sexually charged environment and touching my bum, I would appreciate it greatly." She stops, tilts her head to one side and raises a single eyebrow, daring me to defend my actions.

Then it dawns on her that I am still under a silencing charm and she mutters the counter-charm before returning to her little pose.

"Why would I touch your bum, Weasley? There are many girls in this school whose bums I _would_ grope without fear of being murdered, so why would I choose you - the most likely to destroy this," I run a hand down the front of my form, "perfection."

"Malfoy?"

I grin. "Yes, your Royal Head-Girlness?"

"Admit you touched my bum and then we can leave this nasty cupboard."

I gasp, in a very fake and sarcastic manner of course. "Nasty? I thought you said it had, and I quote, 'a sexually charged environment'?"

Even in the very dim light I can see that she is a) lost for words, and b) trying her hardest not to allow her entire face to turn a startling shade of magenta in embarrassment.

"I can conclude from this..." I gesture to her red ears, "...that you are either attracted to this cupboard, which frankly is a step-up from your last boyfriend, or you are attracted to me."

"I'm not attracted to either of you, nugget-brain. The environment isn't sexually charged _at the moment_."

I turn to the wall of the cupboard and pat it. "Don't worry, Mr Cupboard, she didn't mean to snap your heart in half. She's just like that. She prefers ugly boring types, and you are far too interesting for her." The wall, obviously, did not say anything, and feeling this made my point I turned to Weasley with a grin. "So, I'm guessing that because you don't like the cupboard, we can assume that you have a little thing for..._moi_. Can't say I didn't predict that you would try corner me today, after your reaction at the dinner table."

"I should give you detention for that little stunt. You _cannot_ walk into the Great Hall at dinner time half-naked, it is breaking about fifteen school rules. It reflects badly on my Prefect team that I can't even control someone in my own school year." She crosses her arms and taps her foot on the ground.

"You already did give me detention," I grumble. "Thanks to you I have detention for the next year and a half. I'm going to have to stay at school for an extra year just to go to detention."

She has the decency to look a little sheepish at this. "Stop breaking the rules and I'll stop giving you detention. That sounds like a fair deal to me." I scowl miserably. Chuckling she opens the door to the cupboard and indicates that I should leave. "Ladies first," she grins.

Honestly, she has a habit of wounding my ego does this one. Soon I shall be so un-confident about my body that I will not be able to step outside topless.

Actually, let's face it. That will never happen. Not when her eyes give away her true opinion about my devilishly handsome apparel (or lack of).

That's right. With the aid of the light in the corridor, she is staring at me. I can hardly blame her really, if I was standing in front of a mirror right now I would be happily staring at myself as well, so it's not her fault - I was just made too damn gorgeous. It is perfectly natural that her attention should be directed towards the topless-ness.

However, this all said, it is slightly unnerving.

What if she notices the mole three centimetres from my belly-button and decides that I am the most hideous person alive and therefore must be permanently detained in detention never to see the light of day again? She'll never go out with me then.

Hold up one belly-button flashing second. _She'll never go out with me_...?

I am being possessed. Some evil gnome, or gremlin or suchlike has possessed me and it is implementing its wicked plan to sabotage my mind!

I must get out of here. And pronto. Before more damage befalls my talented mind.  
"So...I'm going to go grace the Slytherin common room with my presence." She gives me a funny look. "Bye."

Then I run. Fast.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Zabini demands upon my re-entry to the Slytherin common room. He appears to have been pacing the room, but ceases when I drop into that squishy sofa in the corner of the room, the one by that painting of a snake swallowing a wizard whole.

Goyle also feels the need to demand a question. "Why is your hair...interestingly ruffled? Have you _finally_ got some action?"

Interpreting this as a direct attack on my girl-attracting abilities, I turn to face her. "Finally? Goyle, darling, I have had more girlfriends than you've had dinners at Hogwarts."

"Malfoy, _darling_," She grimaces at this term. "Please tell me how many girlfriends you have had since the launch of operation SFB?"

I pause for a second.  
"Um. None."

"And can you speculate why that could possibly be?" She smiles, evilly.

Zabini mimicks this evil smile and drops on the ground in front of me. "Any ideas, Malfoy-boy?"

"Of course." Goyle raises her eyebrows in preparation for my answer. Zabini cackles. "It is because all the girls at Hogwarts this year are ghastly and all they do is moon over Longbottom. That creature is vile, and I cannot comprehend how they are attracted to him - potion or no potion. And on that matter, I will never go out with someone who is attracted to Longbottom, however nice it is to accidentally touch their bum."

Why do I ramble like this sometimes? Tidbits of information just leak out of my stupid little gob. I believe it is time to depart this arena. Like, now.

"Well, this has been nice. I'm going to go shower now."

Goyle has started laughing, as we all know she has the deepest of sympathy for these matters of the heart. Zabini, also being understanding and sympathetic of those with delicate dispositions, is chuckling ominously.

"And I'm going to the Prefect bathroom, so don't come looking for me, you heartless bunch of fools."

And with this statement I bound out of the room, feeling that I have made sufficient impact. They are still laughing when I return from my dorm with a towel, however, so I can assume from this that I didn't actually make sufficient impact.

Everything is going wrong today.

* * *

Zabini is still cackling at Breakfast the next day. Though I imagine this has something to do with my somewhat bizarre hairstyle today. For the first time in my life _ever_ I have not woken up with my hair looking sane.

And I genuinely don't know what to do. How do the impoverished and less-blessed-with-good-hair deal with these sort of scenarios?  
Do I wash it again? Do I use excessive amounts of Jenkin's Super Sleek Men's Hair Product? Do I wear a hat?

"Did someone use your hair to mop up the floor this morning?" Goyle says, polite as ever, digging into her daily slice of toast and jam. I narrow my eyes at her, and do not deem her comment worthy of reply. "No seriously, Malfoy. You look good."

"Goyle, do not attempt to flatter me. I look horrific."

Zabini ceases his laughing and points to the ceiling. "Is that your owl?"

Indeed, Zabini's observation is correct, that _is_ in fact my owl, closely followed by my mother's owl, my father's owl and several other Owl Post owls, all carrying identical sized letters. My owl, my mother's owl and my father's owl swoop down and with remarkable accuracy drop a letter in Zabini's orange juice, one on top of Goyle's jammy toast and one in my cornflakes.

Only the best postal service for the Malfoys, eh?

"_What_ is this about?" I demand of no one in particular, thinking miserably back to what letters in the past from my parents have consisted of.

Number one in the most-embarrasing-letter-list is the 'Birds And Bees' letter that my father graciously sent me one evening. Where Goyle got hold of it, and her and Zabini read it in raptures of delight before teasing me incessantly about my fathers indelicate use of the word 'wand' in various contexts.

I slip my finger under the seal and open the letter.

_Dear __**Mr Scorpius Malfoy**__,_

_We are delighted to invite you to a delightful birthday party for our son, Scorpius Malfoy, on his birthday - 30th October at 8pm._

_As this is also the date of Halloween, feel free to dress up as a terrifying magical creature. There will be a prize for the most individual outfit. _

_We hope you can come! _

_Yours, Mr D Malfoy and Mrs A Malfoy._

Oh. Dear. Lord.

"Do your parents not see the irony in asking you to come to your own birthday party?" Goyle grins, peering at the letter over my shoulder. "I've been invited too, obviously."

Zabini has obviously continued to eat without even attempting to open his letter. I nudge him and indicate towards the letter happily swimming in his uneaten cornflakes. He shrugs. "Wha-at?"

"Are you going to open that?" I ask, despite it being fairly obvious that it is an invitation to this weird party my parents have decided to spring on me.

"I know what it is. Your mum asked me to give her a list of people you would want to invite."

The smile Zabini then graces us with is a toothy one, with a large piece of bacon trapped in his front teeth. I become suspicious when Zabini winks at Goyle, to which she replies, "You _didn't!"_ in a voice that is clearly gleeful over having achieved something extraordinarily evil.

"I did indeed," is Zabini's cheery reply.

I examine his facial features carefully, looking for something that will give away what these lunatics I call my friends are on about. "What have you done?"

Unfortunately for me, Zabini and Goyle see fit that they will _not_ deign to answer my question, and instead they will let me figure it out. And I do. Fairly sharpishly. Because, you see, I realise that whoever inappropriate they have decided upon themselves to invite will no doubt be currently opening a letter in confusion.

And I suppose you're wondering who the only other person holding a letter in this hall is?

Well. It was going to be Weasley wasn't it.

But, contrary to the facial expression I would have expected her to have (one of utter shock, irritation and with imminent risk of running off on a murderous spree to the Slytherin common room), I am sadly disappointed. She is not shock. Nor is she irritated.

Nor does she look any closer to going on a Slytherin-murdering fest than she usually does on a Thursday morning.

She is amused. _Amused_.

How can she possibly be _amused_? Aside from the fact that this party is now going to be tortuous for me, which would no doubt amuse her, she seems to have forgotten that this is _not normal._ Is it everyday that I jump around randomly inviting smelly little Head-Berk lovers to my family shindigs?

Precisely. I don't. Ever.

"I'll be back in a minute," I tell Zabini and Goyle without taking my eyes off of Weasley, who has now slid the letter under the nose of her dearest cousin, Albus, with a snigger.

"Going to chat up your girlfriend, Weasley, are you?" Zabini guffaws, slapping his thigh whilst laughing at his own joke. Goyle cackles like only a witch/hag could.

Harvey Flint, sitting next to Zabini, whips his head around with astonishing light-speed. "You _actually_ have a _Gryffindor _girlfriend?" He snorts with barely suppressed laughter. "I didn't know you Weasley was your type." Flint raises a mocking eyebrow.

"She is not my girlfriend, we're..."

Harvey lets out a loud belly laugh. "Don't pull out the just-friends line, Scorp-o. We all know you couldn't be just friends with a girl if you _tried_."

"I'll have you know that I wouldn't go near Malfoy '_in that way'_ with a barge pole," Goyle snipes back. "But other than me, it is true, actually."

My friends provide such loyal and moral support through times of difficulty. Don't you just agree.

"Hush, vile Slytherin, " I command, swinging my legs out from under the table.

They all ignore me, as Harvey grabs my arm to stop me leaving. "Come on, Malfoy. It's not every day that someone who isn't a nerd snags someone like Weasley. How did you do it?"

"What did you mean, 'how did I do it' ?" I implore, shaking his arm off mine. "I didn't do anything. There's nothing going on, please ignore Elizabeth here." I give Goyle the evil eye.

"It's Weasley, mate. That girl is hot with a capital..." Harvey pauses. It is almost comical how he reaches up to scratch his head. "...H? Yes, H. Hot with a capital H. Are you telling me that you haven't asked her out yet?" The way he looks at me suggests that he thinks I am mad.

Zabini chokes on his cup of tea and kindly sees fit to spray the entire table (and my Potions homework which I was just finishing) with his nasty saliva-tea mix. Goyle snickers quietly.

"No," I admit through gritted teeth.

"Excellent!" Harvey says, wiping his mouth on a napkin and jumping up from the table. "If she's softening up to Slytherins, I might as well throw my hat in." Before I can rugby tackle him to the ground to stop that loony going anywhere near her, he's already bounded halfway across the hall.

Zabini tilts his head to one side as he observes the situation. "Mrs...Rose...Flint..." I turn to look at him in aggravation. A look which he replies to one with one ear-to-ear grin. "It's catchy."

"Knobhead," I declare, to general amusement. "I'm going over there."

And so, just as Harvey reaches the Gryffindor table and taps on Weasley's shoulder, I am up from the table and hastily walking around the tables, whilst looking as demure and perfect as possible. I even throw a casual wink back in the direction of the Slytherin table, just so I look normal.

I near the Gryffindor table, and hear Harvey making his move. "So in Divination the other week I saw you and me on a date."

"How thrilling, Flint."

Wow. I didn't realise she could get any more sarcastic than how she usually is with me! This is an achievement.

"I thought, there's no need to disappoint the stars, so what do you say?"

Weasley frowns and regards him with a calculating stare. "Are you trying to ask me out, Flint?"

Flint fails to see the hidden message behind the tone of these words, and simply smiles like a blithering fool. I see this as my opportunity to step in.

"He is trying, indeed, fair maiden."

Weasley recognises my voice in an instant, and the look I am granted with is one of sheer irritation. "What now, Malfoy?" She sighs deeply.

"Nothing... I just thought I would enlighten you with my presence, since you were enjoying it so much yesterday."

I give Albus a friendly grin before turning my attention back to Weasley who's cheeks have reddened slightly. "I don't know what you mean, freak. I never enjoy your presence."

"Really? I got the impression you were rather relishing the view yesterday..." Weasley's slight blush as she attempts a blank look, says it all. "You know, in the cupboard."

"Um...what?" She feigns confusion, and is unsuccessful.

I smirk. "I rather thought I was more memorable than that."

The look on Weasley's face is priceless.

* * *

**Thank you so much for all the reviews :) **

**This chapter took a while to come up with, as intially I did have another idea about where to take it, but then changed my mind because...well, I just did. :)  
Enjoy. **

**G x**


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh you're memorable alright, she hasn't been able to shut up about these dreams she's been having." Mini-Girl-Potter pipes up from opposite her on the table. I can't quite see the expression that Weasley gives her when she turns to face her, but judging by the mushed pulp that has replaced the slice of toast in her hand, I can hazard a guess that the look was one of venom.

Pure venom.

Weasley turns to look at me, half gob-smacked that her cousin would let something like that slip, and half-embarrassed that she did. "I have _not _been having dreams."

"Dreams, huh?" I smirk. "Would these dreams be of the inappropriate nature?"

"If you touched my sister in her dream I'll _kill_ you, Malfoy. You got that?" Hugo growls at me over his plate of beans on toast. Oh please. I'm not scared of him!

He may be frightfully ginger, and have a temper worse than Grawp on a bad day, but he's a pathetic little third year. Or fifth year. Whatever year he's in, he's incredibly small and he blatantly could not kill me. Just saying.

Shit. Have you seen the way he's twiddling his knife on the table? I think he just carved a chunk out of it!

I am utterly and quite positively doomed. I am going to be knifed in my sleep by someone who is barely the same height as my house elf. Why, for Merlin's sake, why? I deserve a better death than that!

"I would never dare to touch your sister in her dream, Hugo," I inform him, slightly panicked, and wondering distinctly how much more awkward this conversation will get before someone takes pity on me and calls me away from these Gryffindor nutjobs.

"Malfoy, can I talk to you in private please?" Weasley says, standing up and avoiding the looks of her cousins that range from amused, to downright murderous. Al lets out a wolf-whistle and a loud banging sound informs me that Hugo has kicked him under the table. "_Now?_"

"Name the cupboard, my love."

Weasley rolls her eyes. "Sixth floor. Broom cupboard opposite the painting of Percy the Portly Pipe-Playing Pigeon."

I nod appreciatively, slightly concerned that this cupboard trip may not end up being so good to my face. No doubt I will have another black eye before Potions in third period. "Good choice, that pigeon has good taste in romantic pipe tunes," I say, deadpan, as Al lets out a sharp chuckle of laughter.

"I was kidding, Malfoy. I'm never getting involved with you and cupboards again. Library. Now." And she marches off without even a backwards glance to see if I am following her.

Which incidentally I am not. She is being such a bossy boots that I think she needs to cool down for a bit so that she isn't as angry. And so that she doesn't murder me in the library.

Hugo breaks the silence. "Have you heard his rendition of My Heart Will Go On? It's beautiful, so melancholy and yet so emotional..."

His cousin, Lily, observes Hugo in slight surprise. "Is that why you were crying last week? It was nothing to do with Gryffindor losing the Quidditch match, was it?"

Al looks shocked. "Woah. You've officially lost the title of Most Manly Weasley." Then he turns to me. "Aren't you going to go? The longer you leave it the more time she'll have for her anger to brew..."

"Way to cheer me up, Pot-head. I'm about to walk to my death and what are you doing? Oh yeah, reminding me that I'm going to die."

Lily snorts. "You're not going to die. Not if Rose starts acting out her dreams..."

"What's even been happening in her dreams? Rose won't tell me," Hugo pipes up, though the look he gives me is one that clearly states: If it's something inappropriate that involves you then I will cut you into little pieces and throw you to the Giant Squid.

The look on Hugo's face is infinitely more terrifying than the one gracing his sister's face a few moments ago. And seeing as I'll have to choose between the two of them, I'm going to pick the one that I am more able to distract from any murderous intent. One look at my abs and she's not going to whip out the old 'Avada Kedavra'.

* * *

I do not know if you have ever visited the library at Hogwarts, but let me inform you, that for someone who has never been in it in their seven years of going to said school (namely me) it is very difficult to not wander around looking homeless and lost.

I have already been approached by several first years who asked me if I was alright. First years! Firsties are _pitying_ me! My life just continues to worsen as each day passes.

Thankfully avoiding the latest in the string of concerned little eleven year olds, I finally manage to find the corner of the library where the stress redhead is standing, looking out of a large ornate window at the school grounds. She hears me approaching and spins around. Her arms are folded and she is NOT looking happy.

Don't hurt me!

Come on, Malfoy. Man up. She's a girl! A little girl who...who is very good at hexes. And hair colouring charms. I cannot go pink again; I cannot suffer through that again. It was agony. Torment, even.

"You look nice," I manage to choke out, praying to the founders of the school (preferably Salazar. He is a beast.) that this will soften her up and make her not want to castrate me.

"You look like an idiot."

Oh. Wow.

Grievous Bodily Harm on the ego there. Wow. That hurt.

"Oh wait, that is because you _are one_."

"Slow down, ginger. Is this about the cupboard? 'Cos you know, I never actually said that anything went down. Your cousins merely _assumed_." I smile slightly. "And as for the dreams, well, it's not as uncommon as you might think, so don't get yourself het up about it."

"I have _not_ been having dreams about you. Lily is being...she's being a meddler."

"A _meddler_?"

"Yes, she's meddling."

I raise an eyebrow. "Meddling with what?"

She gulps. Ha ha! I've caught her out! "Uhm. You know. Stuff. The point is I have not been having dreams..."

"No dreams."

"Nope."

"Right, so, when your cousin was saying that you were going to act out your dreams, she was just being really odd and making stuff up to _meddle_?" I raise fingers on each hand when I say 'meddle', implying that I think she is lying.

Which clearly she is. I have known her long enough to be able to tell that when her face goes bright red she's _probably _not being entirely truthful. Bright red like it is now. "She's a _meddler_. That's what they do."

"So what am I supposed to do about her meddling? Is that why you called me here, to discuss meddling? Because really, I don't want to meddle with a meddler..."

"Shut up, Malfoy. I asked you here because I want you to do me a favour."

A favour. Pah! I don't do favours. Favours get done _for_ me.

But she does look quite lost. Maybe she's struggling with schoolwork what with all her Head's duties with that absolute plonker, and needs a tutor. I can be a tutor!

"Depends what it is..."

"I want you to ask Zabini if he'll go to your party with me."

Oh NO. She did NOT just go there! First LONGBOTTOM and now my BEST FRIEND! What the devil is the world coming to? And to _my_ party as well.

Well, she can dream on. I'm not doing that. No _way_ am I doing that! I don't want her and Zabini whispering sweet nothings in Italian to each other at my birthday party whilst I mope around in whatever ridiculous costume my mother has decided to make me wear.

"What? NO! Of course not!" I am truly taken aback.

This has never happened to me before. I know Zabini is quite a handsome chap, he is my friend after all, but _never_ has a girl asked me to get him to go out with them! This is quite ridiculous!

I can't deal with this. I need to sit down and pronto.

Weasley lets out a barking laugh. "HAHA! Your face is a _picture_, no really! Zabini? Honestly, Malfoy, he's nice but really not my type."

Oh. Well this is just a little bit embarrassing. Just a little. Now it looks like I have some kind of big fat crush on the bloody ginger. Clearly I don't. She's short, and she doesn't always appreciate my abs. I couldn't possibly like someone as heartless as that.

Besides, it is painful to hang out with her too much because she is always bruising my ego.

"Don't do that to me again, I don't want to think about my best friend betraying Slytherin-kind." Excellent save there, I think. Bloody good job I'm able to think on my feet, eh?

"Oh, I won't take a Slytherin then."

I snort rather unattractively and fold my arms. "Who said you could take anyone? I certainly didn't and it's _my_ party, and I am making a law from now on that says that no one is allowed to take anyone to my party."

"So...you're not going to bring a date, and no one else is allowed to bring a date?"

"Precisely."

"Well, that's stupid."

"You're stupid," I smart back, with about as much integrity as a three year old. Honestly. For some reason I get into arguments with Weasley that are so incredibly pointless I rarely understand how we got to the argument in the first place. "Why would I want loads of teenagers groping each other at my parents house anyway?"

"Err... I'm not the one with a baked bean stain down the front of my shirt," Weasley says, pointing at my chest where indeed, upon my shirt there is a horrific looking stain. That better come out. This shirt was _very_ expensive and I would not like to throw it away.

"How did I do that?" I say in confusion, I wasn't even eating baked beans this morning. I bet it was Hugo. I bet he used a banishing charm on a baked bean to fire it onto my shirt as payment for being present in his sister's dreams.

Weasley starts giggling. "You are such a klutz!"

"Hey, I bet this was your idiot ginger brother's fault!"

"You're not going to take your shirt off now are you?" Weasley asks, looking at me in trepidation. "I know what you're like, one measley stain and you have to whip off every item of clothing lest it tarnish your beautiful skin." Oh ha ha. Very funny, Weasley.

"Why, do you want me to take off my shirt? Just I don't think it's very appropriate, since we're in a library and all...A second year girl might see me and you know...die of shock."

"As unappealing as your chest is, I doubt someone would die of shock."

I shake my head at her with a grin. "Nuh-uh. She'd die of shock because she'd never seen such a beautiful chest up close."

"Well, we can't risk that. Hold on..." Weasley reaches up her sleeve and takes out her wand, pointing it at my chest. _"Scourgify_." The stain vanishes. "There you go. Now you don't need to strip."

I don't know what makes me do it. Maybe it's because she's just saved my shirt from the peril of having a ghastly looking baked bean stain down it for the rest of its life. Maybe it's because all the dust from the unused books in the library was swilling up my nose and causing me to become confused.

Or maybe it was just nargles.

But, whatever it was that possessed me that moment, it caused me to do the most ill-thought out thing I have ever done in my life. And I have done some ill-thought out things. Like melt my clothes off in front of the head boy, and strip in the great hall whilst sitting right next to the Head Girl.

But never, _never_ have I done anything as ill-thought out as kiss Rose Weasley.

* * *

**Sorry about the late update :S I got a bit of writer's block that was only cured by watching several hours of goofy tv, when I should have been revising.**

**Let me know what you think. :) Gco. **


	8. Chapter 8

You know, rumour has it that Rose Weasley knows so many hexes that one time she hospitalised one of her cousins for three weeks after he stole her diary and tried to copy it for the rest of the school. And apparently, when Ed James tried to kiss her last year after their date at Madame Puddifoot's she stomped on his foot so hard that he had to have three stitches – the scars of which are allegedly still evident.

So I'm not being particularly hopeful of my survival at this moment where I lunge forward, put my hand in her hair and touch my lips to hers. I am just hoping my heart-stopping kissing technique might stall her for a bit leaving me enough time once I'd stopped kissing her to run for my life (and my nether regions – I have a feeling this would be her first zone of attack).

Realising that my death is almost imminent, I unwillingly pull back and let out a sharp squeak (something which, for future reference, I will not be doing again after kissing someone). "Oh...uh...sorry about that..."

What I do _not_expect at this moment in time is for Weasley to complete ignore the fact that I attempted to apologise for my ungentlemanly behaviour towards a girl of such a delicate disposition as hers, and immediately resume snogging me.

Not that I am complaining. She must be a natural, because I refuse to believe that Longbottom has taught her to kiss this well. She's better than Ursula Chang, and everyone knows that she's the best snog in the whole school. How the hell did she ever get this good?

I might as well enjoy this while it lasts, seeing as I attempted to be polite and all, yet she wasn't having any of it. Her hands wind their way round my neck and I rest one of mine on the small of her back, pushing her up against the bookshelf.

She is a _bloody_ good kisser.

Wow. I should have done this earlier, instead of messing around with all those blonde sixth years. They were rubbish compared to this!

"You know, some more primitive societies would consider you married now."

Shit. We break apart and she practically chucks me to the other side of the aisle in the library, so that I fall into the bookshelf and nearly fall sprawled on the floor.

I can't believe I just snogged Weasley in the _library_. I feel like such a deviant. I run a hand through my hair, trying to make it look slightly more presentable and find myself face to face with _Zabini_.

Weasley, ignoring Zabini, brings a shell-shocked hand to her lips. "Err...Why did I just do that?"

"Do what?" She glances my direction in disbelief, as if I am the stupidest person on the planet for not knowing what she's talking about. I smirk. "Oh...you mean that _thing_...with your tongue...Well, I have to admit, I was rather surprised, not that it was unpleas-"

"_Silencio_!"

My mouth continues to open and close, but unfortunately, having been hexed silent I am now incapable of blessing them with my heavenly voice. I turn round and find myself standing face to face, or more precisely nose-to-nose, with Hugo Weasley. Who is not looking particularly chuffed about the current arrangement.

I can only assume that he was witness to the event that occurred here not two minutes ago.

"I leave you alone for _two seconds_ and _this_ is what happens." His tone is touched with just the slightest hint of venom and immediately the frantic thought (that has been crossing my mind remarkably often recently) of 'Why the devil wasn't this boy put in Slytherin?' darts across my otherwise very pensive mind.

And this is one of the last in a long line of thoughts that are currently flitting up there in my head.

The first of course is, 'Why did I just kiss Weasley?' which is accompanied (quite obviously) with 'Do I have a death-wish?' and 'Use whatever you can find to shield nether regions from unwanted hexes.'

The second is, 'Why is Zabini/Hugo/Goyle/Potter/Other Potter/Other Weasley/The entire student populace in the library?'

The third is the aforementioned, 'Why the devil wasn't this boy put in Slytherin?'

And the fourth is a multitude of imaginings of different scenarios that my death will occur now that I have been discovered in a quite compromising position in the library of all places.

Goyle claps her hands together in a very managing sort of way. "Well, the only thing I have to say is..._FINALLY_."

"Excellent," Zabini agrees with a rather exaggerated nod.

Hugo is eyeing me maliciously.

I am fearing for my life. If he could shoot bullets with those eyes, I would look like a sieve right now.

"I don't think excellent is quite the word I would use to describe it..." Hugo mutters under his breath, his eyes flashing dangerously and his brow-line so low I almost shiver with the intensity of his devil-gaze.

Weasley catches my eye. She is still looking rather shocked.

I must be a better kisser than I thought I was! Hoorah!

"Why the _hell_ was I just snogging that dunce? Which one of you has poisoned me with one of Uncle George's charms or potions?"

Or perhaps ... Not.

Of all the people in the crowd, the person who raised their hand was _not_ the person I would have guessed to. There she is, little Weasley number three-hundred and ninety-four, the one whose name I can never remember. It's either Molly or Lucy. Anyway, she's a second year, at the most, and I feel suddenly demoralised that I was outwitted by a second year.

"I thought I'd brighten up our Saturday." Little Weasley says sweetly, and then she grins and it's like looking at Hugo all over again.

Hugo's wand drops from where it has been pointed at my jugular, and he turns to face her. "Molly! I'm so proud!"

And a family reunion prevents my murder.

Well, thankfully, that little brain mishap that occurred not several minutes ago (the kissing) can be attributed to something other than my rapidly decreasing mental health – of course there was bound to be a potion or charm behind it! Why else would I have snogged the idiot?

Unless I had been paid a considerable amount of money.

The family reunion lot gather together, and with their arms around each other in undying family affection and love (though how Hugo, that conniving little ginger criminal, manages to throw off that air of being entirely innocent is quite inconceivable) they leave the library, leaving me in the company of my dearest friends, Goyle and Zabini.

One of whom has her eyebrows wiggling in some sort of indecent insinuating look at me (Goyle) and the other whom is waving my party invitation with the air of someone who is impatiently trying to convince me to go (Zabini). Not that I really need to be convinced, it is _my_ birthday party after all.

Goyle continues her eyebrow wiggling action. "Malfoooooyyyy...is there something you want to tell us?"

"I was drugged by a second year," I inform her in a business-like tone, straightening out my shirt, which (quite bizarrely) has been ruffled by that little incident. Also, (even more bizarrely) the top button is undone, something which I had not noticed happening at the time.

Their 'Uncle George' bloke must have some seriously powerful potions if it made Weasley so intoxicated that she undid my top button.

Though to be fair: she has had quite a few glimpses of the old six-pack chest region, and its common knowledge that just one viewing of my chest isn't ever quite enough. Even _I_ have to resist the urge to go look in a mirror sometimes (I'm modest like that).

"You were not drugged." Zabini shakes his head, the waving of the invitation ceasing for the moment that he's speaking. Two things at once, it's always difficult, you know.

"I was. You hear the little squirt. She fed me some sort of snogging potion that made me want to snog the next person that I came within two feet of. And that is all."

Goyle nods. It seems to me that she is only pretending to be accepting of my answer, which irritates me slightly. Honestly, she heard herself that little Weasel admit to drugging seventh years, and if I had been Head Boy (damn you again, Longbottom!) then I would quite clearly have put her in detention for the rest of her school life.

"I'm just saying..." Goyle says in a tone that implies she knows that I don't want her to 'just say' anything at all. Better to be silent and forget this horrific incident. This is more embarrassing than the bumtouchingincupboard incident, "...if that was purely snogging potion then it must have been pretty strong stuff, because you two were really going for it just then."

"Going for it! Ha! In a library! Where do you get these stupid observations from, anyway, Goyle?" I feel rather hot under the collar all of a sudden. Perhaps I will undo another button.

"From what I recall when we first walked in, you had her pushed up against the Care of Magical Creatures aisle."

I loosen my tie slightly. "Pushed up...against? Oh no. She sort of tripped...and then I...fell."

"You _fell?_" Goyle asks in disbelief.

"Yes, I fell, alright. I'm not denying that we kissed..." Zabini snorts loudly at my statement, as if to say that we were 'more than kissing' which _clearly_ we were not. Why would I do that? And in the library of all places? And...you know with Weasley? "...Because the snogging potion made us, you know...peck."

"Peck!"

"But, then she just stumbled slightly on the...err...carpet and then I tripped as well, and were just using the bookshelf to steady ourselves."

Goyle rolls her eyes. "So, a slight stumble caused your little innocent 'peck' to turn into a fully fledged tongues and hands session?"

I put one hand on my hip, and gaze at Goyle with a confident glare. "Yes, alright. Now stop with the questions. I need to go hand in my Potions essay."

As I am walking away, trying to sort out my hair which is still looking mental from this morning, Zabini catches up with me and falls into step next to me, leaving Goyle in the library.

"So...you tripped on the carpet?"

I straighten my tie and do up my top button. "We've been through this, Zabby."

He holds his hands in the air in defence, with a slight lopsided grin. "No...no...I believe you...Of course I do. That's what mates are for right. I was just wondering..." Zabini puts his hands casually in his pockets, "...Which carpet would that be? Because you know, the floors in the library are all stone."

"Shut it, Zabby."

"Just thought I'd point it out. For future reference, you know."

"I'm touched. Really. Genuinely. Touched by your kindness."

* * *

It was sitting in Potions that I came up with the plan that will solve all other problems that I currently have. And it was all my idea.

Alright, maybe Albus Potter helped a little bit too, but only a tiny bit. And I refuse to remark on that aspect of it fully when writing my autobiography as, let's be honest, it will taint the image of Scorpius Malfoy All-Round God that I've got going on which is, of course, the image that everyone will want to read about when I am famous.

And perhaps I would never have come up with the idea on my own, as the thought simply would not have crossed my mind. But the fact is, the plan is here, and the plan is being implemented as we speak.

Before I recount the plan, I must introduce the following assumptions that must be made before the plan's details are outlined:

1) Longbottom is Head Boy. This must be _accepted_, however deathly painful it may be. Thus, the following plan must not incriminate the Head Boy in his plight as Head Boy. However, bodily harm and/or public embarrassment are not excluded (naturally).

Haha!

2) Malfoy has not had a girlfriend in a while. Therefore needs one. Pronto. To distract from thoughts that he should obtain more snogging potion from Albus' Uncle George in order to get more action. However, as Longbottom seems to have some unearthly attractive power over all the girls in the school something must be done about that.

3) Potter also needs a girlfriend. (This was Potter's interruption).

The conlusion: That Longbottom must be taken off the dating market so that the rest of us poor gentlemen may bless the ladies with our stunning good looks etc. Luckily, the Hot Seven was such a wild success that this plan was already in motion.

Firstly: We must set Longbottom up with someone who is preferably: a) blind, b) deaf, c) not allergic to soil and d) ugly (so as not to detract from potential Malfoy/Potter dates).

Secondly: We must make the entire female body even _more _aware of our daring masculine beauty. Well, mine. Albus' scrawny arms are hardly going to have the women clawing after him in droves. Potter would not doubt wildly object to this statement, however, as this is my brain I am free to believe that my biceps are more attractive than the Chosen One's son.

The first one is easy to sort out. Let's just say Elizabeth Goyle is getting a blind date unlike any other...

This is payback for laughing at my wounded tainted heart. Perhaps it is a little harsh, but if I am feeling particularly kindly I may obliviate her afterwards so she need not remember the trauma. Or perhaps, I could pay her in Chocolate Frogs. All women love chocolate don't they?

Unfortunately she doesn't actually fall under any of the preferable criteria above (except for c – but is there actually _anyone_ who is allergic to soil?)

Excellent, that's sorted then.

As for the second part of the plan...

Well, that's just going to have to run its natural course. Ergo, the flirting will commence at dinner. Not sure how well Albus will cope with this particular aspect of it, but I believe with a bit of flirting experience under his belt (that he will accumulate over the next 20 minutes in Potions) he will become remarkably expert at it by the time we get to the evening meal.

"You've flirted before, right?"

Albus looks at me as though I just asked him if he had two eyes and a nose. "Yes. Of course I have."

"And...how would you describe your flirting style? Humorous...romantic...pervy...?"

He blinks. "What the hell is a flirting _'style_'? I just...you know...flirt..."

"You've never flirted before in your entire life, have you?"

"Perhaps not. I wouldn't really know...Is flirting subconscious?"

I am tempted to face plant on my desk, but there are some frog innards there that I really do not want anywhere near any facial feature of my own. Let alone any other part of me.

"Watch and learn...my friend."

The watch and learn bit, was just part of the act. Flirting is all natural, of course. Nothing dramatic there.

I flick my gaze around the classroom to find an ideal target that I can use to display to Albus the fine art that I've perfected. I find it almost straight away. Sara Davidson. Not sure I've ever actually spoken to her in my life, but here we go. There's a first time for everything.

I grab the jar of Frog Kidneys from the desk and pour them onto the chopping board in front of Albus. He gives me a very funny look at one of the kidney's makes a squelching noise and slides across a patch of the chopping board. "That's disgusting."

I ignore him and walk straight over to Sara's desk, but not before running a quick hand through my hair just to give it that ruffled 'I just got out of bed and my hair looked this good that I couldn't be bothered to brush it' look. That, added to the trademark Malfoy sexy-grin (as I like to call it), and by the time I arrive at her desk I am most probably looking quite dashing.

Sara notices me straight away, and smiles at me with a slight blush. "Hiya."

"Hey Sara. Me and Albus have just run out of Frog Kidneys...I was just wondering if you had any to spare?"

Sara nearly drops her stirring spoon into her Potion as she scrambles round on her desk for the full jar of Frog Kidneys. "How did you run out so quickly?"

This is going to be easier than I thought.

"Oh...I kept cutting them wrong...I know you're supposed to slice it length-ways but it just keeps slipping from my fingers." I grin cheekily, looking as though I am incredibly embarrassed about divulging such information. I am, obviously, not embarrassed, as it is not true. But there you go.

"I could show you if you want?" She smiles.

"That would be brilliant."

And that, in the middle of my innocent conversation with Sara (it's very hard to flirt provocatively with someone quite so polite), is when I feel something slimy land on the back of my neck. It's cold. It's slimy. And unless I'm very much mistaken, it is starting to slide down my neck into my...EEEK! It's down the back of my shirt!

"What was _that_!" I squeal girlishly. (For future reference, never refer to my squeals as girlish. Under normal circumstances, of course, I would squeal in a distinctly masculine manner, but desperate times call for desperate measures.) "There's something...down...my neck!"

"Oh...Has your ego dislodged itself?"

I whirl around, instantly regretting it, as that motion caused the slimy thing to slip further down my back. It's Weasley...standing there _grinning_ at my misfortune. "It's slimy...it's _cold_...and it's the most disgusting feeling ever..."

"So it could be compared to your kissing technique?" Weasley asks, with that face that implies complete innocence, but I'm not stupid. That girl is NOT innocent. She is cruel and heartless, and I think it was her who is responsible for this crime.

I also think the slimy thing...it might be a frog kidney...

Don't frogs have diseases that cause rashes and the like?

That's it. It must get out now.

* * *

**Little bit longer than some of my other chapters...but I felt like I couldn't leave it any earlier. Hopefully I'll get some more up soon :)**

**Poor, poor Malfoy. Constantly denying his true feelings. Tut tut. But all the same, I don't want to revelation to happen *just* yet...though it may be coming soon, as I really enjoy writing this story. It's a lot of fun writing a character who, if you met them in real life you'd hate their guts, but from their perspective you just want them to get everything right.**

**Let me know what you think or if you have any ideas/suggestions/complaints. I'm happy to hear them. Also, thank you to all my faithful reviewers - I think we all know how lovely it is to know that someone out there is actually reading and enjoying your work. :P**

**Gco. **


	9. Chapter 9

"You're not are you..."

I loosen my tie. "I'm not _what_?"

"You're not about to bloody...Oh?"

For Merlin's sake. I mean, I know I'm attractive and all, but there comes to the point when you are purposely vandalising someone's clothing in order to get them to remove it and you should realise that it is a step. Too. Far.

Really. She has a voracious sexual appetite.

I suppose I am entirely to blame. Had I not whipped my shirt off at dinner the other day and practically made her faint the immense beauty of my right bicep right in her eye, and had I not had my clothes melted off me then perhaps she would not feel the undying urge to see my naked torso again.

But I simply refuse to remove it in Potions.

It's _bloody freezing_ in the dungeons. And even I don't think I'm good looking enough to pull of the shivering/frostbitten/hypothermic look.

So the shirt is not coming off. That much is decided. My only other solution, since the last thing I want to be doing is wandering around all day with a rotten frog kidney sliming its way down my back.

"_Accio_." I contort myself so my wand is pointing down the back of my shirt neck.

Whatever it was that was down my shirt is propelled into the air with a force unlike any I have seen before. That was one darn good Accio if I don't say so myself. As it soars past my eyeline in the air, time appears to slow down slightly, and I watch with a deep feeling of mingled terror and panic as it lines itself up with perfect trajectory for...

"MY EYE! SWEET MERLIN MALFOY! YOU DO REALISE THAT KIDNEY'S USED TO CONTAIN PEE!" She rips it off her face and flings it back at me, thankfully missing (not such a good Quidditch player now, are you Weasel?). "I HAVE PEE IN MY EYE!"

"Miss Weasley," Professor Field exclaims. "I really do not wish to know how that occurred." It appears that he has returned from his little gander down to his private store room to go marvel at his gillyweed collection, or whatever makes him happy. "Please return to your seat." He prowls up in front of the blackboard, wielding a ladle like a weapon.

"Yes sir."

"And Mr Malfoy?" He adds, giving his ladle a twirl. "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from placing the Potions ingredients in your clothing, thank you."

I am just speculating, but I have a distinct impression that the back of my shirt is now riddled with a ghastly stain left from the juices of that horrific frog kidney.

Merlin. Another shirt ruined.

This term is starting to cost me an utter bloody fortune.

I collapse onto the stool next to Albus miserably. "Frogs kidney. In my shirt. Touching my skin."

He has the decency to look mildly sympathetic. "It's not been your day has it? First your attacked by my poxy cousin and a snogging potion that is probably illegal, and now you have a kidney thrown down your shirt _just_ when your flirting was reaching its peak."

I sniff dejectedly.

"I'll tell you what will cheer you up from your sadness."

"What?" I ask, brightening up slightly, and narrowly missing putting my elbow in the kidneys I deposited on our chopping board earlier. "Tell me it's exciting... Tell me it involves someone's public humiliation."

"You are _such_ a Slytherin." Albus shakes his head. "But it does in fact."

I am almost giddy with excitement. Please be something to embarrass Longbottom.

"Let's set Goyle up with the date of her life... Tonight."

* * *

The thought behind it was all sincere. And sincere thoughts that are intelligently considered are generally thoughts that become executed as bloody marvellous plans.

Unfortunately, sometimes the logistics of it may be slightly more difficult to plan out. In this particular instance there was one teeny tiny incy wincy flaw that might put a damper on the whole situation: that Goyle would never willingly go on a date or in fact stay in the same room as Longbottom without significant financial compensation. And a weapon. Preferably a firearm.

Now, seeing as the firearm would be difficult to come by, we have to think of another ingenius method to get them in a room for long enough for us to use one of Albus' Uncle's finest products: 'Attraction Gas – Looks like a stink bomb, even _smells_ like a stink bomb, but one whiff of this beauty and you'll become insanely attracted to the next person you see. Effects last one week, best for use with friends with faces only a mother could love.'

Now, I know what you're thinking. Scorpius, you know these things always backfire on you, _why_ are you even bothering with it this time around?

Well, I shall tell you why.

These things only back fire on me when a certain someone is either present, or involved, or when there is any opportunity for nakedness. Since this involves Soil-for-brains and not kidney-chucking-loon I am SAFE.

That's the theory anyway.

Of course, eliciting Hugo's help for the situation was required anyway, since he can do all the hard graft and thinking, and it leaves me and Albus more time to play Hangman.

"What? How can it have a 'Q' in it? I swear there's no word where the Q is there!"

Hugo presses an irate hand to his forehead. "Oi! Silence. I am creating a masterpiece here."

"The only word I can think of with a Q in, is Quill."

"Quiver."

"Quaint."

"Quarantine."

"QUIET." Hugo stands up and waves his hands back and forth in the air. "Do you want to know what I've created or not?"

"Of course I do. You are my guidance, the fountain of wisdom within these four stone walls," I declare to Hugo. I admit, I am attempting to suck up to him, just _slightly_. I don't want him to launch an assassination attempt on me after this morning's fiasco.

Therefore a well placed compliment or two, ought to calm down his 'avada' hand.

"Hit me with your plan."

"Well, firstly I would like to congratulate you on a marvellous plan which acts as a perfect ending to our last one. This will hopefully garuntee that Rose will not return to Herbology Berk's tender tentacula-like arms."

Three cheers for that.

"Right, now the sentiment's out of the way... This is how it's going to work."

* * *

_Dear Longbottom,_

_We need to talk. Meet me behind the tapestry of Gary the Groping Giant on the fourth floor at 8. Come alone._

_Yours, Rose._

* * *

Goyle,

Got a new plan for taking down SFB. Secret meeting tonight behind the tapestry of Gary the Groping Giant on the fourth floor at 8.

Malfoy.

Ps. Bring food.

* * *

Everything was going brilliantly, the letters were sent and received (Oh, I saw Ernest Longbottom's pest-like grin at dinner) and we were on our way back from dinner intending on heading up to our secret location to set everything up before the magic happened, _until_... Rose nearly blew it.

Of course, I shall give her the benefit of the doubt, she wasn't actually aware that there was anything going on, but thankfully I was there to save the day.

Bloody hero I am. Deserve a medal.

"I'll see you at eight then," Longbottom grins at her, knowingly.

Oh, he may try to be knowing, but she just is not interested. At least that is going by her revelation to me the other day in the cupboard. She may have been lying, I don't know.

Actually, the fact that she voluntarily chose to remain in a cupboard with myself half naked rather than even talk to him may perhaps be the giveaway.

She wants me so bad.

"What's happenin-" Seizing my moment, I lunge forward and clasp a hand over her mouth.

"Yeah, she'll see you later. Just need to have a quick word. Sorry." He stands there looking gormless. I indicate towards the stairs with my eyebrows, Merlin can't he take a hint. "_Bye_ now."

He finally wanders off up the stairs.

I almost forget that I have my hand over the lunatics mouth until I feel something incredibly wet and slippery on my palm. Then I realise she has licked me. _Licked_ me.

Oh, Merlin, do I have a way with the ladies.

"Eww, first you, then the kidney, now you again," I remark, wiping my hand on my trousers.

"What's happening at eight?"

I open and close my mouth attempting to think of something intelligent to say that will throw her off the mark. Nope. Nothing's coming.

"You're planning something else aren't you?"

"I would never disgrace your reign as Head Girl by jeopardising the reputation of anyone within the castle," I admit, mock-seriously. It's mock serious to me anyway, of course my incredible acting skills could convince anyone of my sincerity. "Your authority is important to me."

"It's Ernest, isn't it?"

I sigh. "In reality I'm actually doing him a favour."

"How is humiliating him a _favour_?"

"I'm not humiliating him _this time_. I'm getting him laid. It's a sign that I am extending the hand of friendship to him. I have forgiven him his horrific deed of becoming Head Boy when clearly I am more deserving candidate," I declare, running a cocky hand through my hair. "I have my moments of charity and grace."

"I'm not sure I believe you." She narrows her eyes, as if by glaring at me enough the truth will seep through the pores on my forehead and spell out the words 'Yes, child. He tells the truth'. "But regardless, I meant to find you anyway, because _WE_..." Oh please tell me those three words aren't coming next. "... need to talk."

Oh yes they did.

Merlin, it's like we're breaking up, except we were never going out anyway, because the heartless witch would never consider herself to be worthy of such a god as myself and resorted, therefore, to the attractions of the lower common species. Ie. Longbottom.

"Talk?" I say in a voice in a slightly higher pitch than I am used to. "About what? You're deep-seated desire to act out your dirty dreams with me in real life?"

She looks gobsmacked. "WHAT?"

"Come on, Weasley. A passionate moment, in a _library_. It just has your subconscious written all over it. Admit it, your dreams have been getting too much and you suddenly thought you were IN one this morning." I nod sympathetically. "It's hard, dealing with your attraction to me, I know..."

"What do you mean, you _know_?"

"I'm being empathetic. Seeing myself from your shoes, or however it goes." I remark coolly. "From your perspective, I'm this annoying urchin who keeps getting naked in front of you. It must be so... confusing... to suddenly find all this-" I wave a hand down the length of my body in front of me, "-attractive."

"I've not been having _dreams_. This morning was just my stupid cousin who put something dodgy in our morning pumpkin juice... That made us get frisky in the library."

I continue on, as if I have been ignoring her. Of course I haven't, that would be insanely rude, I have just been pretending to since her point is irrelevant. As always. "It all makes sense. I turn you on... books turn you on... the only natural jump was to pounce on me in the library."

"I think you'll find that you pounced first."

Err. That may be an excellent point. However, I shall follow traditional Malfoy route and deny all involvement with said action.

"No, I didn't. Why would I pounce? You're the one dreaming about me."

"I've already told you, I had ONE dream with you in. ONE. And in that dream we were in an exam hall, and NO-" She interrupts me before I even have a chance to speak. Somehow, she has guessed what I was going to say, purely through interpreting the movement of my eyebrows. "No, you were _not_ naked."

"Yes I was."

"How can you possibly know anything of the sort? I'm telling you weren't naked, and since you were not actually present to view said dream, we're just going to have to take my word on it."

Perhaps this is the time to admit that I got Albus to spike her drink with a dirty dreams sleeping draught...

"Now _shut up_ before I hex you."

OR perhaps not. I will just rest safely in the knowledge that she has, in fact, been having said dreams. Her cousin proved the existence of them this morning when she stated, rather clearly, that she keeps 'going on about' them.

"Listen to me now. What happened this morning was my _cousin's_ doing. And trust me when I say that it _definitely_ won't be happening again."

How much do you want to bet?

"Never say never, Weasley. You might surprise yourself, one day."

"When I say I'm not going to do something, I think we can garuntee that I won't do it. Especially if the thing in question is snogging and you."

The echoing click-clack of someone's footsteps draws nearer and Weasley takes a step back from me and stops her lecture, folding her arms across her chest. I think she's worried that some poor first year will see the darling Head Girl shouting at that charming Slytherin boy and hate her forever.

Luckily for her, it's only Sara from our Potions class.

"Hey Scorpius!" She calls across the hall to me.

"Hey! Thanks for the kidneys in Potions earlier by the way, let me know if I can pay you back for lending me yours," I smile back.

"Well," she pauses. "There is one thing, maybe you'd like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?" And another pause. "As a date?"

Oh yeah baby. Still got that never-ending Malfoy charm. Way to go, lady killer.

I'm just about to whole-heartedly agree, when suddenly, out of the blue, Weasley speaks up when I've almost forgotten that she's still standing there. "Oh, actually he's going with me."

* * *

**Oh, it's been an age! But I found this on my laptop the other day from ages ago! Thought I would post it in case anyone was missing a bit of Malfoy and his obsession with Rose's dirty dreams - saucy boy.**

**Hope you're all well, let me know what you think...**

**Gco.**


	10. Chapter 10

_Just to refresh your memory, because I sure need mine refreshing just to remind me this wasn't a NIGHTMARE or another non-real event:_

_Sara asked me to Hogsmeade thus cementing the fact that I am still a desirable gentleman, and definitely have my Mojo back._

_I was about to accept. After all, this wasn't a crazy lady who had thrown a frog kidney down my back, was it?_

_Aforementioned crazy lady (ie. Weasley) decided to inform Sara that I was in fact going with her. _

_Then it was awkward (we'll begin again from this bit). _

"Oh, actually, he's going with me." How can she BE so matter-of-fact about the situation, when clearly I would never in a million years go anywhere near Hogsmeade with someone who can destroy so much designer clothing without a care in the world? HOW?

Even worse, she has gone and destroyed the only date offer I have received _all term_. The fact that this is occurring worries me greatly, ie. The lack of date offers. But I am blaming it purely on all these strange potions we have been feeding to Longbottom.

Either way, I am not content with the current turn of events.

"Is he...?" Sara exclaims in pure unadulterated shock. See. Even she thinks it's weird that I would ever ask Weasley. Point proven. Now Weasley, _leave_ and let me handle this web of lies you have created on my own. LEAVE.

Sending her virtual mind waves signalling departure doesn't seem to be having much effect.

"Actually..." I pipe up, but am once again rudely cut off. And this time I mean _literally_ cut off – she has _silencio_'d me with a NON-VERBAL spell. Either that or I have miraculously lost the ability to talk.

"Yes. He is." And she throws me the _dirtiest_ look ever. This not only confirms my suspicion that she definitely placed a silencing charm on me, but also the suspicion that she should have been a Slytherin.

She needs to stop whipping out the old _silencio_ on me, because frankly it is getting old. If she gets that annoyed at my dulcet tones then perhaps she should try an ear-blocking charm so that my angelic voice may be heard by the lowly students of this establishment.

I throw Sara an apologetic look. I also try to throw in a slight hint of 'HELP ME PLEASE' into my look, but by the look she gives me I definitely failed this endeavour and only succeeded to look constipated.

So Sara leaves thinking that I am a two-timing git for flirting with her in Potions whilst I'm actually going out with Weasley, which as we all know is a massive lie fabricated by kidney-chucker to my left for unknown reasons (though of course I can speculate. She wants me. Bad).

I give her a dark, menacing stare.

It was a stare that was meant to ask, 'WHY? Why have you done this to me?'. It was a stare that combined a deep seated confusion with irritation as to why she had to ruin a perfectly acceptable date.

Unfortunately, she appeared to pick up on none of these signs, and proceeded to walk away from me. Oh yes. She _silenced_ me, took away my date and is now _stamping_ her way down the corridor as if she has done something trivial like tie her shoelace or swat a passing fly.

The thing is, she has gone one step too far. Well, to be honest, she regularly goes several steps, nay lunges, too far but this time I refuse to let her march all over me with her Head Girl boots and get away with it. So I march right after her and fall into step beside her as we come into the Transfiguration corridor.

"Are you following me, Malfoy? You do realise I could have you reported for stalker-like obsessive behaviour."

Oh great. Not only has she been an incredibly irritating beast of burden, but she is proceeding to act like she did nothing wrong! Well, Miss High-and-Mighty, it's time you learnt a lesson! If you could _only_ remove the silencing charm from me...

"You're awfully quiet. Cat got your tongue?" She throws a smarmy smirk in my direction. I waggle my finger at her angrily and point at my throat, hoping she may get the indication. "Malfoy, I took the silencing charm off five minutes ago."

"What?"

Ah. So she did.

That doesn't excuse her misdeeds, however.

"Since I am able to speak once again, I have to ask you a question," I declare, standing in her way with my arms folded in front of me. She rolls her eyes and folds her arms right back at me.

"Fire away."

I take a shallow breath. "Are you _intentionally_ ruining my life?"

"I hardly ruined your life," she remarks, casually side-stepping me and carrying on down the corridor. "A cancelled date hardly counts as life-ruining. Just meddling."

I let out a disbelieving snort. "Meddling? First you get yourself invited to my birthday party courtesy of my idiot best friend," My mind thinks back to breakfast this morning and the various ways in which I would like to employ my wrath on Zabini, "and secondly you just lost me a date and simultaneously introduced a rumour that _we_," I cast a frantic wave between the two of us, "are somehow _seeing each other_."

She points at her right eye. "I'm seeing you now."

She is so annoying.

"You know I don't mean with eyes. I mean _seeing_ each other."

"I see you." She widens her eyes. "Loads of people can _see_ you."

"I mean _dating_."

"I know! God Malfoy, I'm not as socially retarded as you seem to think I am."

"Well," I demand in exasperation, "Why the hell did you pretend to not know what I was on about?" She just grins and carries on walking. "Actually, never mind. Let's just start at the beginning, _why are you invited to my party_?"

"You just said," she reminds me. "Zabini invited me. His motive, I might speculate, is either to annoy you or because he likes me."

It better not be the latter. Because if it is...

Maybe he does like her. Maybe this is why he has invited her! God.

I really didn't see this one coming. I _knew_ should have taken divination. Then I would be prepared for these earth-shattering revelations. Zabini and Weasley. It is just not a combination I could imagine...

Weasley eyes me with a calculating look. "You know, I have a question to ask you." I nod half-encouragingly, half wanting to find Zabini and confront him about this secret affair that may or may not happen with our dearest Head Girl. "Why did you care so much about Ernest and I?"

Why did I care so much that she was going out with a plant-groping soil freak who had completely usurped my true role as King Malfoy the Head Boy of Hogwarts?

Actually I don't know.

Only option: remove spotlight from self to avoid answering.

"Why did you just stop Sara from asking me out?"

For a split-second she looks almost dumb-struck. There's a first. "Touché, Scorpius."

"Touché indeed." I sigh. "Well, since I am a friendly and accommodating Gryffindor, I will allow you to attend my party..." She looks rather surprised, and oddly quite excited, at this turn of events. I suppose a Malfoy family shebang is hardly something to be sniffed at. Especially at a weekend during term time where all other students can wave their green with envy noses in the air come Monday. "... On the condition that you bring Albus as your plus one."

"Now, Malfoy," she smirks and raises an eyebrow. "Are you just saying that because you don't want me to bring along some hunky Ravenclaw."

Are there any hunky Ravenclaws? I think not. No danger of that then.

I shrug. "Actually I just want Albus there. We are fast becoming mega chummy."

"I noticed," she comments dryly, as if she disapproves of our burgeoning relationship. Truly, I think it may be jealousy. In Potions she is still lumbered with Long-arse and his meticulously OCD stirring technique, which must be incredibly awkward since they broke up, whilst Albie and I frolic around at the other end of the table revelling in the joy of our wit and having, all in all, a splendiferous time planning pranks.

"Well, I have places to be, havoc to wreak... people to humiliate, so don't let me keep you any longer," I say loudly to the hallway, wringing my hands with glee.

"Urgh. I'm just going to pretend I know nothing of your little rule-breaking session. Try not to blow up the castle and I won't take house points off, deal?" She holds out a hand.

Unfortunately for her, that hand lingers in the air just slightly longer than is acceptable when waiting for a deal-making handshake, because I am revelling in the shock of the event that has just occurred.

Was that the _head girl_... CONDONING rule-breaking?

Or if not condoning, at least allowing to occur without being a nosy busy-body and destroying everyone's rule-breaking fun?

I think this just might be a moment for the records.

I shake her hand enthusiastically. "I do believe we have reached an impasse, Miss Weasley."

"It probably won't last long," she admits.

That's when I realise that our hand shake has been going on for a considerable amount of time, and it's almost starting to reach that point where it gets just that teensy bit awkward. We both pull away at the same time.

"See you then," I mutter.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow. Or in detention. Whichever comes first." She grins widely.

As she walks away and I scuttle up to the portrait of Gary the Groping Giant to initiate Operation Attraction Gas, I dwell on my most recent conversation with the bane of my life. Now. I don't know if this is just my personal view of the matter, but that particular meeting appeared to have considerable less ego-bashing than normal...

Although it did occur right after she just destroyed my chances with Sara.

So I still hate her. Never mind.

Longbottom havoc time.

* * *

Several weeks later Albus marches into Potions looking distinctly _un_happy with his life in general, and proceeds to plant his face upon our desk where I had meticulously laid out a row of jars that are required for the potion we are making today.

"We are idiots," he declares dramatically. "Absolute idiots. In fact, I don't think there have been stupider people _ever_ in the world."

"Speak for yourself, Gryffindor dimwit."

"Oi, you helped implement the plan." He lifts his head from the table, "You're partially to blame."

"Err _Helloo_," I remind him. "Your idea, your family's product. I am the innocent party."

"My family's product is not the issue."

"Yes it is. You stupid Weasley Wizard Wheeze's Attraction Gas is what is making Goyle and Longbottom constantly grope each other, _nothing_ else. This you must accept." I sigh deeply. "You are at fault."

"Malfoy it's been _two weeks_."

I grit my teeth. "I know. Bloody ages. Your family really know how to make some strong love potions... It worries me."

"But that's the thing," he declares, as if it's obvious. "It's not too strong, I checked with my Uncle and he did a batch check. It should have run out after four or five days and here we are... two weeks on."

We both turn to look at Goyle and Longbottom who are fervently engaging in tonsil quidditch slap bang in the middle of the dungeons. It should have run out a week and a half ago...

Then why the _hell_ is it still functioning?

"Has someone else got them with it again? Maybe Hugo?" I ask and Albus shakes his head.

"I'm starting to worry that they've actually hooked up... for real."

I feel a sinking feeling in my gut and let out a strangled yelp. "My best friend and my worst enemy!"

"I'll be your replacement best friend," Pot-head announces. "As long as you promise that I will win the best costume prize at your party on Saturday."

"My parents are the judges and they have horrific taste. Wear something gob-smackingly ghastly and you're in with a shot," I advise him seriously. "I dread to think what outfit they've picked out for me..."

My birthday falls around an unfortunate time of year. Halloween. A celebration that my parents get _seriously_ into. Thus my birthday parties consist of Halloween dress-up parties, which (quite strangely, I think) they invite dignitaries too. Who else can say they spent their birthday chatting to the Minister for Magic who was dressed up as a mountain troll? No one other than I, I suppose.

I tend to let them just pick my costume out, otherwise they will no doubt complain that I didn't get into the 'spirit' of things. Last year I was a harpy. Therefore I dread to think what fate befalls me on Saturday.

In the meantime, Weasley has just arrived and therefore it is my moral obligation to extensively annoy her about her lost love, ie. SFB. "Heartbroken, Weasley?"

"What?" She grinds her teeth with venom.

"We're here for you at this difficult time," I declare, lurching forward and enveloping her in a _friendly_ hug (before you go getting ideas – this is no repeat of the library incident). Albus jumps up and joins in the hug.

"Get. Off. Me."

"Why? We are offering you friendship and support." I remind her tetchily. She pokes me in the chest. "Try all you want love, these abs will protect me from any poking."

"Eurgh," she moans as we release her from the prison of our arms. "You've ruined my hair now."

"I think you'll find your genetics ruined it _looooooong_ before we ever got there," I input, picking up my quill. Only to drop it again when she whacks me round the back of my head. "OW! Sweet Merlin, we're not starting this violence thing again are we? I thought we moved on from the physical side of our relationship."

Albus raises his eyebrows.

"Please," she growls, with an intake of breath, "stop making it sound like we've been having an affair or something. You're going to ruin my reputation."

"I think you'll find..."

"My genetics did not ruin my reputation, before you go there."

"I was going to say that I ruined your reputation a long time ago when we spent a heavenly evening in a cupboard together."

She snorts. "Heavenly. As far as I'm concerned that was the worst evening of my life. I was stuck in a cupboard with _you_."

"You loved it."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Children!" Professor Field declares, pointing his ladle threateningly at us. I swear to God that sometimes he confuses his wand with his ladle because _honestly_ there is nothing that frightening about a large spoon that is slightly more concave than usual. "I hope you're not working in a pair today because I'm not sure I can cope with your bickering in my sensitive old age." He strokes his incredibly long eyebrows whilst eyeing us peculiarly. "Mr Malfoy work with Potter. Miss Weasley, who is your usual partner?"

"Longbottom, sir."

Professor Field lowers his spectacles to gaze at the desk behind us, where it is apparent that Goyle and Longbottom are not to be disturbed. "Hmmm." He sniffs loudly. "I suggest you three work together."

He shuffles round our table and stares at the frantic couple, who have still not noticed he is in the room. He coughs loudly. They continue. He bangs his ladle forcefully down on the table. That definitely got their attention.

"Longbottom I am sending a report to the Headmaster to have your Head Boy-ship placed under surveillance, please go work with Holton. Miss Goyle, I suggest you apologise to your usual partner, Mr Zabini here. It somewhat appears he is permanently scarred for life by your antics."

Goyle nods shamefacedly as Zabini smugly grins at her. "Yes, sir."

Field and his ladle return to the front of the dungeon classroom. "Ladies, gentlemen and inappropriate canoodlers – " He eyes Goyle and Longbottom in turn disparagingly, " – today I would like you to create one of the three potions in Chapter 15 of your textbooks. Please label your vial with your chosen potion so that I can mark it accordingly." He taps his ladle on his desk. "Come on then, Chop chop!"

"Let's do the last one," Weasley pipes up instantly, jumping off her stool ready to get the ingredients.

"What? Thoughtfulness Tincture?" I remark in disgust.

"Agreed." Pot-head jumps up from his stool as well.

"But it's so boring!"

"Go get Juniper berries, Malfoy, and stop moaning," Weasley orders.

Moaning, ha! I am being ganged up on now that I am in a group of three with double Gryffindor trouble.

In fact, now I dwell on it, it is rather strange to think I am now in this situation when one considers what low regard I held these measly Gryff pedants in at the beginning of term. Quite a turnaround.

See, who needs a potion to be thoughtful? Not I!

I jump up and strut towards the ingredients cupboard feeling very proud of myself for overcoming such prejudices that I had at the beginning of the year (and for being so full of thoughts – no one can say I am shallow now) passing Professor Field on the way who is muttering under his breath about 'setting bad examples'. Please tell me he is angered about Longbottom. That would literally make my day.

Half an hour later, we are midway through brewing our potion when Professor McGonagall marches into the dungeon with a shriek of, "MALFOY!"

Of course I do what any self-respecting Slytherin would do, and attempt to hide under the table and when this fails, duck so that Weasley's untameable bush of ginger hair will hide me from the wrath of our headmistress. "Save me!" I whisper up at my shield.

"What have you done now?" Weasley groans.

McGonagall sees right through my disguise (damn Weasley for being so damn short, I had to squat and that meant that my delectable derriere was poking right out to be visible by all). "Malfoy. A word with you _now_."

Professor Field grins at me. But the evil way he is tapping his ladle on his opposite hand implies that a stern telling off awaits me. What have I done? Is this about the Hot Seven thing?

I promise I will never get naked in the Great Hall ever again! At least not at dinner time anyway.

Pot-head looks sufficiently worried. Why he is not in trouble? He is practically my partner in crime these days ever since Zabini and Goyle abandoned me as Potions partners! Surely he should be in trouble too.

I walk out of the room in McGonagall's wake with my head held high (a Slytherin always falls in style).

* * *

Ten minutes later I emerge into the dungeon again and immediately bound over to my table. Our potion is brewing nicely (presumably since I am not there to interfere) and Potter is looking concerned, either about the potion or myself.

"Well? What did she want?"

I grin.

"Someone must have spiked my morning pumpkin juice with felix felicis because I just got lucky!"

Zabini snorts from behind me and I turn to see him standing with a raised brow. "You _finally_ got laid?"

Weasley coughs loudly.

"Sorry Head Girly, didn't mean to disrupt your delicate disposition," Zabini adds sarcastically. "Let me rephrase, Malfoy, did you _finally_ attract the attentions of a woman after almost a whole half term of celibacy?" Weasley shakes her head in exasperation.

"Better, my dear Zabby," I grin. "So much better you cannot even imagine."

"Just tell us!" Potter announces, "What is it with you Slytherins and your constant need for drama and attention?"

Zabini ignores him. "What's better than getting laid?"

"Well, Longbottom has just been temporarily suspended from his post as Head Boy due to 'inappropriate behaviour in the breakfast hall' and _guess_ who has been chosen to replace him?"

"God. Are we going to have to sabotage another sucker to fulfil your need to be the big cheese," Zabini groans. "Taking down Longbottom was hard enough."

This was not the reaction I had been hoping for. "It's _me_!" I declare, throwing my arms out in excitement. "I am the new big cheese! Temporarily."

Weasley turns around. "Did I just hear that correctly? Longbottom has been suspended and they thought it was wise to replace him with _you_."

"You did hear that correctly."

"GAHHHHHHH! Whyyyyyy does McGonagall insist on pairing me with fools?"

"Are you admitting Ernest was a fool?" I inquire politely.

"Of course he's a fool. He thinks that he can get away with his continuing affair with Goyle because you lot believe it's still the potion making them fornicate in public places," she says loudly. "But it's not! They've fancied each other for ages!" Then she realises what she's said and clasps a hand to her mouth. "Um...Woops."

I am gob-smacked.

I turn to face Goyle in shock. As does Potter. And Zabini.

"Goyle? Is this true?"

She nods. "That's why I helped you break him and Rose up."

"But the potion...?"

"Gave us the opportunity to admit our feelings."

I regret to inform all readers of this memoir that I did at this point pass out. However, it is not, as many tease me about, to be due to the shocking revelation that was just bestowed upon me, but actually because Professor Field, who was walking past at the time, slipped upon where Kyle Jones dropped a bottle of Lavender extract which caused his ladle to soar through the air and strike me on the forehead.

However, the shock meant that I was unable to dodge said ladle, as of course, my quidditch abilities should have allowed me too. That is how I explain it to lesser people who doubt my manliness (ie. Weasley).

* * *

**A/N: So sorry, it's been ages. I've been incredibly busy with exams/Uni in general so please forgive me! **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway, let me know what you think :) Finally getting up to Malfoy's birthday party which will definately be a hoot!**

**Thank you for reading!**

**Gco. x**


	11. Chapter 11

On my first full day as Head Boy, I unleash terror upon the first years in the hallway sending them scuttling off to their dormitories in fear of the unyielding power of the new Head Boy.

"You two little firsties... Stop running! Ten house points from whatever house you're in!"

Oh. Power. I can get used to this. You see the reason Longbottom was such a poor Head Boy - he was afraid to actually _use_ his power for evil (like points taking). I managed to get him earlier on... He and Goyle were practically eating each other's faces in the Slytherin common room, so I took 20 points from Goyle for allowing such a snotty-nosed vegetation lover into our common room and they duly scuttled out to engage in illicit activities elsewhere. Result!

First year number one skids to a stop, his gigantic bag almost causing him to topple over onto the stone floor, and spins around in fear. Ah yes. I have this power thing down to a tee. "Are you talking to _me_?" FY1 (First Year 1) demands, looking more threatening than scared.

Merlin. Has Hugo been training up a miniature army of first years?

FY2 stops and scoffs at me, as I thrust my chest out to reveal my lovely shiny Head Boy badge.

"Yes I am talking to you. Ten points each from Gryffindor," I declare, noticing the red badge on their ties.

"Who is he?" FY1 asks FY2, with a demeaning glance in my direction.

"He's the Slytherin seeker," FY2 says, ferociously glaring at me. "He made us lose the game the other week."

FY1 does not look happy about this revelation. "I don't like him," he tells his friend.

"Yeah, well I don't particularly like you either, so scoot before I take away more points," I tell them forcefully. The thought of losing yet _more_ house points does it for the little swots and they walk swiftly onwards, though I hear their footsteps running as soon as they get out of view.

Let's just hope they run into Weasley. She'll give them detention if she catches them running in the halls.

I tuck my potions textbook firmly under my arm and turn around to head to the Quidditch pitch. Thankfully I have a free lesson after Potions on a Friday and Potter, Zabini and I were planning to head for a quick fly around before lunch (when all the first years like to appear with their dodgy brooms from the 1900s and fly into walls and the like). However, as soon as I turn around, I am faced with _her_. Speak of the devil.

"Well, you're really getting the first years on your side aren't you."

I side-step her and carry on walking. "It's not my fault that Gryffindors are so blind they can't appreciate my superior skill on the Quidditch field."

"Don't walk away from me!"

I stop, and she catches up with me. "Why not? I'm late and you're engaging me in pointless conversation when you could be giving those little fiends detention, like I know you're dying to."

And I carry on walking. Because really, I can't afford to be standing my friend's up. Not when I have just lost one of my closest friends to the urchin that is Longbottom. Of course I have forgiven her for her poor taste (she could have picked that sixth year who picks his nose at dinner, so it's not so bad) but unfortunately spend little time with her as if I want to, Longbottom's saliva is an unwanted guest to our gathering.

Besides, my pale complexion is becoming almost translucent (curse Scotland and its permanent cloud cover!) and today there is a small slither of sunshine which I intend to bask in. Therefore, talking to Weasley is the least of my concerns, especially when I can tell she is about to have a rant at me for nothing in particular like she seems to enjoy doing.

"Where are you going?" She is practically jogging to keep up with my long strides. Bless the unfortunate midget. "I have a question to ask you."

"Ask it whilst we walk," I say, jumping down the steps outside.

"Are you free for a last minute Heads meeting this evening? We need to re-arrange the prefect rotation – Lizzy from fifth year has just told me that the Ravenclaw Quidditch training has moved to a Thursday and Harvey says..."

At this point I caught a glimpse of Zabini and Pot-head already starting to play without me, so was completely distracted and it pains me to say that I was not listening to a word she was saying to me, and only started to tune in again once we reached the gate to the Quidditch pitch.

"...Wizard chess is moving to Wednesday starting next week... something to do with Filch not being able to polish the pawns in time."

"Meeting sounds fine. Where and when?" I ask, and Weasley looks at me as if she is surprised that I haven't thrown a fit about having to give up my evening.

She stops walking and grabs my arm. "Were you even listening to a word I've been saying?"

"Of course, every word." Yeah, I totally blanked out about five minutes of her lecture. Never mind. She can't have said anything important.

"Then you would have heard me say where and when," she informs me smugly, knowing full well I hadn't been listening to her. Sweet Merlin, nothing's ever good enough is it! My attention span lasted longer than usual (approximately 20 seconds), what more does she want?

"Ha..." I say nervously. "Well, why don't you just remind me so that I can write it down?"

"Library. Eight. _Be there_." She lets go of my arm and follows me onto the pitch. "Now where is my cousin? I assume you're here with him now that you two are best chums and all."

As if on cue, Pot-head drops to the ground and jumps off his broom directly on the grass in front of us. "Malfoyyyy, why did you bring _her_? She's such a joy kill!"

"Albus Potter!"

Something is telling me that he's about to get told off... so I shuffle over to where Zabini has landed and is loosening his tie. "This tie is so restricting. That's the only reason Pot-head got that last one past me, it stopped me from moving my arm out quickly enough." He whips his tie off and drops it on top of his bag. I follow suit, undoing my top button as well and rolling up my sleeves.

"Right. I know we're friends and all, but old prejudices still stand. We must thrash Potter," I declare, we look over where he is being presumably lectured by his delightful cousin.

It is standing there, broomstick in hand, that I realise something rather life-changing. Weasley isn't as ginger and frizzy haired as I always thought she was. Admittedly, in our younger years she did look like she was permanently on fire, but currently her hair is looking more sleek and gently wavy rather than absurdly afro-like. Also the bright orange ginger has died down to a pleasant auburn.

"Weasley's not looking as frizzy as usual," I remark to Zabini.

Zabini snorts. "She's not been looking frizzy since the end of second year, moron."

I turn my head to the side and squint. You know if I didn't know who she was, and if she wasn't currently shouting her head off at someone, she might actually be passably attractive...

"Why are you suddenly realising this anyway?" Zabini questions me, rolling his sleeves up on his shirt. "Finally admitting your feelings... again."

"What do you mean _again_? I would never admit any non-existant feelings that I _don't_ have for Weasley," I cough, looking away from her direction and picking up my broom.

"Train on the way here. Do you not remember?"

"That was bribery. If I didn't admit that then you would never help me take down Long-arse." I grin in Zabini's direction. "Fact, Zabby."

I hear him snort as I march over in Pot-head's direction to get rid of the loon so that we can begin our shoot-out competition. It appears they are merely in deep conversation rather than mid-family-argument. Therefore it is prime-time to interrupt and send away the Quidditch-hater.

"Pot-head. Unless you return to the pitch in the next five seconds you will automatically forfeit your first three shots at goal," I announce, standing my broom vertically up in the grass. "You joining in Weasley?"

"Pah! No!" She looks at me disapprovingly. "Where's your tie? You're not setting a very good example."

I roll my eyes. "Weasley, the only people here that I can set an example to are your cousin, who frankly has you on his case and therefore doesn't need me, and Zabini, whom all hope is lost for. Therefore I will remain tie-less thank you very much."

She gives me a funny look from head to toe. Which, being a Slytherin (and a Malfoy), I take my opportunity to purposefully mis-interpret. "Reminiscing about that time at dinner are you? Don't worry, I'll turn up to lunch suitably dishevelled."

"Wha-"

"Don't pretend to be scandalized. Your face gives you away," I grin widely. "Men! Let us play!" I declare, and put one leg over the other side of my broom. "See you later Weasley," I say as Potter soars into the air. "Save me a seat at dinner," I add with a sly wink.

Of course the wink was just for annoyance factor. Most women would probably swoon at such a wink and, in some more rare cases, feel it is an indication to jump my bones, but since Weasley is a prudish Slytherin-hating law-abider, I assumed that this wink would just serve to act as extra annoyance.

I could not have predicted how red her face would go. Or the ensuing stammer of, "Right... Yes... See you... Um... Later," that followed the aforementioned wink.

Utterly hilarious. Who knew she could get that embarrassed? Definately trying that one again, only with an audience for maximal embarrassment for our dear Head Girl.

* * *

_List of things that have definitely changed about Scorpius Malfoy recently_

_1) I have arrived early for a Head's meeting. Have you ever heard anything so lame and suck-up-y at this? I think not. This is a prime sign that Malfoy is turning into a massive sop. Need to sort this out. _

_2) Forgot to do my hair this morning. _

_3) Forgot to look in a mirror at lunch to check that the hair that I did not do this morning was naturally appearing satisfactory after Quidditch practice. As far as I know I look like the back end of an albino badger right now. _

_4) Greeted the librarian with a jaunty wave as I came in. _

_Jaunty._

_When have I _ever_ been jaunty? _

_5) Have thus far not managed to wind the Head Girl up... I've lost my touch. Poor effort._

"Are you actually listening to me Malfoy, or are you writing in your diary?"

_6) I appear so unmanly that people think I am writing in a diary. Merlin, I have sunk low. Must re-instate self as manly, domineering individual_.

"Diary? Pah... I was jotting down notes on what you had said," I inform the Head Girl who is staring at me rather snootily right now. How could she possibly think I was writing in a diary?

That is a pastime that only first year girls engage in.

Weasley shuffles her pile of papers together forcefully. "I think we've pretty much covered everything we need to then. Is there anything you want to ask me?"

There are many things I wish to ask her. Or not necessarily her, but someone, for I am right in a tizzy here.

Do you think I am unmanly?

Does my hair look frighteningly ridiculous?

Am I turning into a massive sop?

So many issues face me at the current time. And right before my party as well, where my self-confidence will loom to an annual low due to the degrading costume that my mother will no doubt plonk me in.

"I'll take that as a No," she remarks when I make no reply. She gives me a funny look. If only she understood the torment going through my mind. I run a hand through my hair – it certainly doesn't _feel_ like an albino badger's backside, but then again I have never felt one so it may still appear thus ridiculous.

"Alright," I declare, half to myself and half to Weasley. "I'm off to prepare myself for the horrors of my mother's costume making tomorrow, and I daresay you have some extra homework to do that you have set yourself." I smirk at Weasley with a raised brow. She rolls her eyes at me. "So, unfortunately, my beautiful face will once again leave your presence." Weasley snorts. "Try not to cry too much."

"Don't worry, I won't," she insists, quite forcefully. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I grin and move away from the table. I hear Weasley sigh behind me, so I turn with a smirk. "Every moment without me is anguish, eh, Weasley?"

"Go. To. Bed."

"Is that an invitation?"

She looks at me in disbelief. "Did it _sound_ like an invitation? I think not."

"You never know with you Gryffs. Hidden meanings behind everything," I say in defence, before setting off. Embarrassingly my first few steps resemble that of a merry skip and I have to reign myself in and remind myself who I am – I am Malfoy. Malfoys do not skip. Malfoys do not jauntily wave at librarians. Malfoys are smug and arrogant and do not dare to greet someone who is lowly and common.

"Good night Mr Malfoy," the librarian smiles and waves.

"Good night!" I reply with _yet another_ jaunty wave.

I am beginning to think all hope is lost.

I am turning into some uncontrollably pleasant creature! I am like a werewolf, but instead of turning into a wolf I am becoming something soppy and wimpish, like a Hufflepuff.

I am a were-Hufflepuff!

This is the greatest shame a Slytherin could ever endure.

* * *

**A/N: Mmm... The party is happening soon, and just like poor little were-Hufflepuff Malfoy, we have a few questions...  
1) Will Malfoy ever admit that he doesn't find the Head Girl as unpleasant as he thinks he does?  
2) Will nice Malfoy prevail? Or will arrogant Malfoy return with vengeance...?  
**** 3) And just _why_ is Weasley going red whenever Malfoy hints at his nakedness...?**

**Until next time...**

**Gco. x**


	12. Chapter 12

I arrive at my birthday party with considerable aplomb.

Of course I'm being sarcastic. I looked like a total idiot. But, determined not to let the wretched costume hand of my mother get the better of me, I walk (/shuffle) from my room to the top of the stairs ready for my grand entrée with the inner confidence of my usual self. Unfortunately, the fact that I do, in fact, look like a massive plonker puts a slight downer on things, but really it could have been worse.

She could have dressed me up as a pumpkin like she did on my 7th birthday – this looked terrible, the orange clashed horribly with my hair. Plus the enormous suit meant that I was constantly knocking things over and ended up giving about twelve house elves concussion.

Or she could have gone down the spider look, like on my 10th – that was cool until it turned out she'd charmed the legs and my _own costume_ carried me up onto one of the chandeliers where I was forced to remain for a good two hours whilst she tried to figure out how to undo the charm.

And really, anything was better than mountain troll from last year. That snot-covered loincloth looked far less like Tarzan than I was hoping for.

So, all in all, being dressed up as a 'Haunted Suit of Armour' really could be a lot worse, but considering that this metal outfit leaves little opportunity to move, I imagine that it may result in this being a very _boring_ party with a lot of standing around, for me at least.

I don't really know what she was on about with it being 'haunted' either. The fact that I am standing within it makes it haunted enough – I'm sure I have already taken up much of your time moaning about the agonising torment of looking at the marked translucency of my skin. If only I were tanned all year round... that really would be spectacular.

I begin the steady waddle down the stairs, thanking my lucky stars that everyone seems to be either not here yet, or far too busy over by the buffet tables, so there is no one to see me clunk my way down.

One upside of this costume – Helmet shields my face. Thus no one will know it is me in this stupid thing!

I'm three steps from the bottom when I realise what mother dearest meant by calling it a haunted suit of armour. I am slowly getting used to wobbling down the stairs when an ear-piecing shriek emits itself from somewhere just below my chin.

Of course, I scream and fall over, landing in a metallic heap at the bottom of the stairs.

"Scorpykins is here!"

Naturally she would recognise her suit-of-armour cursing handiwork.

Through the slits in my helmet I can see a dainty pair of shoes, undoubtedly my mother's, clacking across the marble floor to reach me.

"He better not have scratched the floor!" I hear my father emit, with a squeal of laughter. Merlin. So far this is shaping up to be quite possibly the most humiliating evening of my life.

"Get up, Scorpius," My mother insists. Clearly oblivious to the fact that my joints have _no movement whatsoever_ thanks to her ingenious costume idea. "People are started to _stare_." She whispers the last bit.

"Mother. I might as well be under petrificus flipping totalus for the amount I can move right now," I moan.

"You're meant to loosen the costume of course, Scorpy," she peers through my visor. "Peekaboo! I'll do it for you, birthday boy." Merciful Lord, she better know what she's doing otherwise I will almost certainly be spending my entire birthday party lying at the foot of the stairs in the entrance hall. She mutters a quick spell, and instantly the metal feels much less tight around my knees and elbows.

I clamber up onto my hands and knees, and with the help of the banister get to my feet, picking up my sword on the way. Thank god for magic, now walking is no longer an impossible feat. However, dancing may be a slight issue. Come to think of it, I should have put Father-Malfoy in this stupid contraption then maybe he wouldn't be able to embarrass us all with his horrific interpretation of that muggle classic – the macaroni.

As soon as I am standing, I flick the visor of my helmet up and give the hall of people (not many so far, thankfully, to witness my humiliation) a jaunty wave and a grin. My father looks somewhat pleasantly surprised at my jolly greeting, and clearly my costume is too as it lets out another wailing shriek.

Mother giggles like a witch on helium. "Goodness, I think this is my best costume yet. You should see your face every time it howls!"

"Howls?" I remark. "Sounds more like a goblin being throttled."

Mother looks at me as I recover from the shock of the shrieking armour. "Draco! Doesn't our boy look so handsome! Like a knight in shining armour!"

"Knight in shrieking armour, more like," I comment, walking (with only a minor clanging noise) over to where my father is stood by the pastries. I am glad to see that mother has gone overboard and dressed him as a basilisk. He does not look particularly happy about having a 'tail' to his costume. "Aren't I getting too old for these parties?" I ask, pleadingly.

"You got too old for them ten years ago, son. But let's let your mother have her fun," he replies, giving my mother the soppiest look I have ever seen in my life. Clearly the loss of the Malfoy traits are contagious. One jaunty wave from me and suddenly Father-Malfs has become a complete milksop.

My costume lets out another shriek, and I drop the pastry I was holding. "That could start to get annoying," Father comments blithely. Wow. As if that wasn't stating the obvious. It was _already_ getting annoying.

"Do you reckon?" I mutter sarcastically.

Father ignores me as he looks around the room. "Where are all those lovely friends we invited?"

Lovely? Clearly he is unaware that a little ginger nightmare by the name of Weasley is about to inflict her presence upon our delightful family mansion.

"Late, I suppose," I reply through a mouthful of pastry. "I imagine Potter has fabricated a ridiculous costume that puts travelling in a normal fashion out of the window."

I realise my error just two seconds too late.

"Potter?" Father replies, looking slightly shocked. "As in, _Potter_ the boy who you regularly had dinner time rants about? Are you finally on speaking terms?"

"Maybe," I remark, tilting my head to the side. "I thought you were very much anti-Potter?"

"I'm anti the annoying one, but the scrawny one is acceptable."

"Annoying one?" I ask, picking up another pastry. Might as well have my fill before Zabini gets here.

My father grimaces. "_Harry_."

"Thankfully he's just about...30 years too old to be in my year at school so it's just the scrawny one." I roll my eyes.

"I could definitely take the scrawny one," Father stands up straight, and bends his fingers out in front of him menacingly. "My basilisk-y eyes will petrify him for a good hour, I reckon." He gives me a wide grin and confirms what I had always suspected deep down.

He is definitely mental.

And clearly sad enough to believe that his basilisk costume will actually allow him to petrify his enemies. I stuff another pastry in my mouth with a vague hope that I will never end up as crazy as him. Then I realise that I have spent much of my first term of seventh year pranking Longbottom instead of focusing on being a sneaky, suave Slytherin.

I knock the visor of my helmet down to stop me eating any more pastries, and also so that no one can see me standing next to my father who keeps hissing at me instead of speaking for 'authenticity' as he tells me when I request an explanation for this frankly bizarre behaviour. Severely tempted to call Mungo's on him right now, but decide against it when I realise it will leave me with my Mother as my sole carer. That will never end well.

Thankfully, he is limiting his insane behaviour for only when he cannot be overheard. As soon as the Minister for Magic (looking splendid as a vampire) strolls over he reverts back to his usual self. If only his private persona were the same as his normal public one... then I might actually have stood a chance of being a sane human being.

I decide to wait out their incredibly boring conversation about the Giant's rock economy (mega yawn) and gently lean against the wall with my arms folded. I am saved from having to listen to the Minister drone on and on (and my father too – who would know he had just been hissing at me earlier?) by the arrival of Zabini and Goyle.

Goyle has apparently gone as a witch (I have concluded this since she is just wearing her pointy Hogwarts hat and robes), a very boring costume indeed, when one considers that even the Minister is wearing fake fangs dripping with fake blood. Zabini is wearing a scrap of fabric strung around his groin area... and has painted himself green.

I clunk my way over to them and flick my visor up. "Zabini, what the _devil_ are you?" Straight to the point as always.

Zabini puffs up his chest, and places his hands on his hips, clearly enjoying the attention when a passing female ministry worker lets out a gasp of admiration. "I'm a house elf, of course."

As he speaks my own house elf walks past and lets out a faintly distinguishable snort. I have to say that at this moment in time, I agree with little Huntworth. Zabini looks downright ridiculous. And about as far from a house elf as you could possibly get.

"How many house elves do you know that wear a loincloth?" I demand. "Also, how is a house elf a Halloween costume?"

"You're just jealous because my abs are the centre of attention for a change," Zabini grins. He then wiggles his eyebrows, and jerks his head backwards. "I'm sure Weasley would be glad of a change of six pack in her line of vision..."

Goyle cackles away. Her hat nearly topples off she is finding this that hilarious.

"I'm sure Weasley would much rather _not_ have to look at a guy painted bogey-colour and prancing around in saggy grey y-fronts."

Zabini snorts. "I'll have you know, this is my finest pillowcase."

Goyle lifts up a hand re-adjust her hat which had been dislodged with all the cackling she was doing. "No need to argue boys, she's just arrived, you can ask her about it yourselves."

I slam my visor down and give my sword a little twirl – this sword is, regrettably, harmless. There is some charm around it that means its blade is protected. Merlin only knows who mother thought I would be attacking this evening. "Come on then Zabby."

Goyle smiles thoughtfully. "You know, Zabby is actually quite a good house elf name. I think it might stick."

"What do you mean it _might stick_? You've been calling me Zabby for _months_!" Zabini exclaims in frustration.

"Hurry up, or I _will_ poke you with my sword."

Goyle, having the disgusting tainted mind that she does, is left behind as she resumes her habit of giggling uncontrollably at something that is not particularly funny. It irritates me that my actual attempts at jokes never seem to illicit any sign of amusement from her, but the instant I say something without any intent of being amusing she finds it thigh-smackingly hilarious.

At this point, however, upon catching sight of Albie Pot-head both Zabini and I were brought to speechlessness. In fact on a scale of speechlessness from mild surprise to passing out in horror, we were on a firm jaw-dropping to ground in confusion. I will humbly admit that I let out a teeny squeak of surprise. Luckily this was shielded by my armour shrieking again.

"I told you he wouldn't find it funny, Albus," Weasley announces pompously in that famous 'I-told-you-so' voice that she has perfected so well. "If Zabini is in shock, then Malfoy is going to throw a massive hissy."

I am pleasantly surprised to see that she has gone down an acceptable route of wearing a red dress and horns – presumably being a devil. Far better than Goyle's pathetic attempt and far less mentally scarring than Zabini's house elf loincloth.

"Who's the tin can?" she then remarks, poking my armoured leg with her trident. A sharp clanging noise rings out, followed by the now familiar shriek. Thinking she has just set off an alarm, she jumps back. I decide not to inform her of my existence, not because I am too embarrassed to let her know that I have been dressed up as a suit of armour (NOT tin can, Merlin) but because I am far too preoccupied with the prize idiot standing in front of me.

Do you wish to know what he had done?

Well. We'll start at the top.

Hair? Dyed _white_. Not even pale blonde, like a deathly shade of white. However, weirdly this did not make him look old-man-like.

Face? Smirking. Pretty normal. However, this was a far more evil smirk than ever before.

Skin? Again, dyed white.

Clothing? A Slytherin tie, Slytherin robes and... Bountiful Merlin! Is that my best Cartier watch!

"I'm _Malfoy_!" Pot-head, lets out of a screech of excitement. "Brilliant costume, eh?"

Zabini stops being shocked and doubles over in laughter. I poke him with my sword, because judging by the old-lady squeal behind me, doubling over did no favours for his loincloth, and I have no wish for someone to die of a heart attack at my birthday party. Especially not myself – which to be honest is the biggest worry of the moment.

Because then Pot-head does something even _worse_. He takes a handheld mirror out of his pocket and starts preening at his ghostly white hair.

"Is that supposed to be _me_?" I manage to gasp out in horror.

"Malfoy? You're the tin can?" Potter asks, leaning forward and banging the edge of his mirror on my head. The banging rings around my ear and I try to poke him with my sword. "Do you like my costume mate?"

Before I can answer, my father has ambled over and is looking at Potter with a quizzical brow. Then he grins and holds out his hand for him to shake. "I was going to petrify you with my bulbous yellow eyes, but your costume is fantastic." They shake hands, and Potter looks thrilled to already be in the good books of someone his parents had warned would most probably dislike him.

Bugger.

Bugger bugger bugger. Potter is going to win the stupid costume competition, and will forever be gloating about the fact that he took the piss out of me _and_ won a prize for it at the same time. A prize that was decided on by my own parents, my _own flesh and blood_.

Curse it.

My costume shrieks again and Potter points at it in alarm. "Is is meant to do that?"

Father nods. "Mrs Malfoy's wonderful creation."

Wonderful? I beg to differ.

"Firewhiskey, old man?" Father holds out a small glass of amber looking liquid. "You're more than old enough to have a sip."

I take the glass off of him thankfully, and drink it quickly. I am going to need more where that came from to get through this evening. Father looks at me in a strangely proud way (perhaps he was thinking that I would start choking at the strength of it...) and clicks his fingers. Huntworth our house elf scurries over quickly. "Yes, master."

"Could you fetch some firewhiskey for the young ones, Huntworth?" Potter gives him a wide smile and a big thumbs up. "My pleasure, youngsters." He then returns to a gang of severe looking men who's limited costume design means that I can only speculate that they believe 'Ministry worker' is a threatening Halloween costume.

Huntworth returns almost immediately with a generously sized bottle of Ogden's finest and a supply of glass tumblers. "Enjoy sensibly youngsters."

"Don't mind if I do," Zabini lunges forward for a tumbler. Huntworth rewards him with a pained grimace. I think he is also feeling the pain of a house elf being interpreted as a loincloth wearing naked green man.

Before I know it, another tumbler is thrust into my hand, but before I can reach it to my lips, Potter is coughing loudly. "Hem hem." He grins importantly. "I'd just like to propose a toast." Merlin, Gryffindor's are so poncy. "Happy Birthday, Malfoy! Thanks for being such a brilliant prat."

Wow. What a toast.

I drink up and then cast an amused look over to Weasley who is eyeing her drink with a scowl. "Don't be such a wuss, Weasel. Drink up!"

She catches my eye. Under usual circumstances I doubt she would even bat an eyelid at me encouraging her to go against all her prudish morals and actually engage in a bit of normal teenager fun... Maybe it's the fact she's dressed up as a devil, or maybe it's the fact that I look devilishly handsome in my armour (most probably the latter) but next thing I know she's given me a smirk worthy of the finest Slytherin and has guzzled the entire contents of her tumbler.

Then she starts choking which sort of gives away the fact that she's not used to drinking, but nevertheless she reaches forward for another one.

"I'm not a _wuss_... Scorpius," she declares with a heavy-lidded stare, before she struts past me to go talk to someone on the other side of the room.

"What's in that stuff?" Goyle remarks, picking up the bottle and regarding the label with mild confusion. "It must be something special if it's got the Head Girl to relinquish her usual Miss-Prissy-Knickers ways."

"Don't question the power that armour has over a woman," I inform her smugly.

"Malfoy, that was nothing to do with your armour."

I eye her with cocky incredulity, "Elizabeth Goyle. What _else_ could it possibly have been? All women love a man in armour."

"Hmm. I get the feeling she likes you with your armour _off _too." She raises her eyes at me as I just look at her in immense puzzlement.

And on that bombshell, she scuttles over to Huntworth to get some more firewhiskey, just as a few more Hogwarts students arrive (mainly Slytherins with their parents, but I notice a rogue Hufflepuff amongst them too). I go to greet them with a clatter and a wave of my shiny sword, but all the while my thoughts are thinking about Goyle's comment...

* * *

**A/N: Maybe Goyle has a point... We shall see later. :)**

**Let me know what you think, and I'll try get the next chapter up as soon as poss. **

**Gco. x**


	13. Chapter 13

Longbottom is at my party.

LONGBOTTOM.

Can you not see the inappropriateness of this development? Can you not see how my _fists_ are _clenching_ at the mere thought of him helping himself to my vol au vents?

The worst thing is, it's all my doing. Well, my parents doing. They were the ones who allowed people to bring along plus ones. The real criminal, however, is Goyle for thinking it was an intelligent idea to bring that horticulturist weirdo to my birthday shindig.

Really?

Did she think it was a brilliant idea to bring the moron who I had been playing pranks for several months to my party where my father was shuffling around on the dance floor like a typically rhythm-lacking old man – a fact which he could _definitely _use as bribery/tool for great embarrassment?

Exactly. This does not bode well.

Plus, the look he just gave me... Well, let's just say it doesn't appear he's too chuffed that I've been tipped to replace him as Head Boy whilst his 'inappropriate behaviour' is being investigated. If I was a weaker man, I would have been terrified.

Luckily I know the worst he can do is brandish a pair of blunt secateurs my way. Whereas I am skilled in a variety of deplorable hexes, that and I have a sword. Therefore I would most definitely win in a fight between the two of us.

"Work it, Potter! I like your style!"

Is that my father speaking?

Merciful _Merlin_, is that Pot-head engaging in some serious macaroni (...Macaroon?) dancing with my father by his side? They look like the weirdest comedy duo ever.

I think it is safe to assume that this may in fact be the most humiliating experience of my life. My reputation that I once held as ice-king of Slytherin – cold and aloof yet still, suave and demure - has long gone down the toilet. Now I am just 'that idiot wearing a tin can whose Dad dances like a hippogriff with a permanent jelly-legs jinx'.

And just when I think things can't get any worse...

"Well... this makes a change."

I grit my teeth. "Just because I am in a room full of ministry personnel, _Longbottom_, does not mean I won't hex you so bad that even your potted plants are screaming for mercy."

"Potted plants can't scream," he informs me pedantically – sounding an awful lot like a ginger someone we all know and get incredibly annoyed by in lessons...

"I'll remind you of that next time I whip a mandrake out its pot and you get knocked unconscious," I remind him. His slightly chubby cheeks pink up a bit when he realises that I have just outsmarted him.

It's strange... I think people forget how intelligent I am because of my dastardly good looks. It's one thing being really, really ridiculously good looking, but many people neglect to remember that, yes, some of us are that fortunate to be blessed with staggering handsome-ness _and_ straight O's.

"What do you want, anyway?" I demand, sniffing in derision at his 'Zorro' costume. He hardly looks like an agile Hispanic do-gooder. More like a jolly cowboy with a cape and mask.

"I was just going to say that it makes a nice change that you're clothed for once," he remarks. Though the look he gives my suit of armour suggests that he still disapproves.

Whatever, I don't need approval from a chubby cowboy.

"Don't worry, I'm sure I will rectify that error later," I respond, taking another sip of my firewhiskey. "It's tradition..."

"What? To get naked at your family party?"

I roll my eyes. "Just wait till the old fogies leave to write up their cauldron reports and the like. That's when the party really starts. It's the perfect opportunity for you to prove that you're not a boring fart like you always appear to be."

Longbottom frowns. "Is that a challenge?"

"Take it how you like, Longbotts," I say, with a dry smirk. "But if you intend to impress Goyle I suggest you get your soppy Gryffindor arse over to the drinks table."

He looks at me wide-eyed before deciding that my advice is probably right and shuffling straight over to the drinks table to pour himself a glass of wine. Ponce.

Of course, I was bluffing about the whole youth's after party. As I have mentioned earlier, it is uncommon that there are any youth here to merit there being one... but since we have a handful here today I don't see why a couple of bottles of Ogden's finest Firewhiskey can't be put to one side for when all the boring Ministry people have gone home...

In fact. Now that I think about it a bit more – it's a bloody good idea.

Bottom's up to that! And I down the rest of my drink.

Party time!

"Father!" I call merrily across the dance floor. My dad does a rather snazzy hip shake and jumps to face my direction. "Teach me the moves!"

If you can't stop them dancing like fools – join them.

* * *

"I'm not strong enough."

"Potter, don't _lie_. I've seen house elves that weigh more than her." I point at Huntworth who miserably looks at his slightly prominent belly. "Not you Huntworth, it was a figure of speech."

"Just pick her up, Malfoy. I need to carry the late-arrival slip so we can get into school again."

I snort. "Don't you think it'll look slightly suspicious that we're carrying an unconscious girl back into school."

Longbottom steps forward from where he's been whispering plant-related love poems into the ear of Goyle. "I asked my father to let us in. No questions asked."

Wow. Longbottom has actually proved useful. Hurrah for that. Never thought I would see the day.

"Now that that's settled, Malfoy, _please_ carry her," Potter is practically begging on his hands and knees. "My arms will hurt if I have to carry her up the fifty million stairs up to the Head's common room."

"Oh! Is that what this is about! _Stairs_!"

"I'm also still slightly tipsy," Potter admits.

This is true. I, however, have sobered up since I was forced to spend the last hour away from any form of alcohol in order to bid farewell to many ministry guests that I didn't really know. Curse these family obligations.

Longbottom whips off his cape and flings it into Goyle's arms. "For goodness sake. _I'll_ carry her."

What? What is this? _Longbottom_ trying to upstage me by insinuating that his weedy little arms have more strength than mine?

This will NOT do.

I elbow him out the way dramatically. "Take my helmet, Potter." I take off my helmet, then realising I won't be able to carry someone with all this darn armour on, I start taking off the arm pieces. The body piece comes off last, so I am just left with a plain white t-shirt. Longbottom tuts loudly. Well, I did warn him earlier.

Merlin, it feels good to be freed from that metal cage.

I bend down and scoop Weasley up into my arms. Who knew that the Head Girl would get into such a state! I daresay this gives her no right to complain at me for those little things she insists are rule-breaking... like wandering into dinner topless. Frankly, passing out at a classmate's birthday party tops them all.

Shame she did really, I was looking forward to having a little après party. Obviously one cannot have a party when one's Head Girl is passed out in the corner.

I stand up with her in my arms and she lets out a little squeak. "At least she's alive," I say cheerfully.

Longbottom looks annoyed that he has lost his chance to look manly. Thankfully I have managed to prevent being over-shadowed by Longbottom trying to impress Goyle with saving poor Weasley's life. "Don't drop her, Malfoy," he whispers menacingly as we wander over to the fireplace to head back to school. "Or I'll hex you so badly your ferrety ancestors will be spinning in their graves."

"Are you calling my ancestors _ferrety_?"

Longbottom folds his arms smugly. "So what if I am?"

"Do you _have_ a deathwish?" I ask through gritted teeth. Really, who is Longbottom to be calling my ancestors _ferrety_? His great grandmother who picked him up from the station at the end of last term was wearing a whopping great eagle on her hat. Who wears stuffed birds of prey on their head? It's just weird. "Because I wasn't holding an innocent ginger in my arms right now, _you'd_ be making up the compost come next week."

"Eww," Zabini remarks. "That's a gross image."

"What's a gross image?" Goyle asks, holding out a pot of floo powder.

"Longbottom as compost," Zabini replies, grabbing a handful. "Don't ask," he adds when Goyle looks mighty confused, "those two are just having a moment." He steps in the fireplace. "See you in a minute lads, _Hogwarts_." And he is engulfed by green flames.

Longbottom grabs a handful of green powder and sneers at me as he walks past to the fireplace.

As soon as he vanishes, I declare, "I swear he has turned into more of a prat recently."

Goyle shrugs her shoulders. "He's nice most of the time. You just bring the inner goblin out of him," she tells me, holding out the pot to me.

"How the hell am I meant to do this?" I ask, looking down at Weasley who appears to be just asleep rather than passed out. Would it be bad if I poked her awake?

Potter stumbles over. Looks like Weasley wasn't the only one to overdo it on the firewhiskey front. Luckily Potter is far more able to hold his drink. "Side long apparition?"

I immediately retort with, "You can't apparrate in Hogwarts grounds." Goyle gives me a funny look. "It's in Hogwarts: A History," I reply in explanation. Then I catch myself before I say anything else that makes me look like a total loser-ish nerd. Merlin, if I didn't know better I'd say that I was turning into Weasley or something. I've become such a geeky wuss recently.

"Shall I wake her up?" Goyle asks, peering down at Weasley's ginger mass of hair. I can barely see my arm it is concealed behind the enormous bush atop her head. When neither Potter or I give her any response to the contrary, she points her wand and says, "_Ennervate_."

Weasley blinks her eyes open. And immediately begins flailing around.

I do the gentlemanly thing and lean down a bit so when I drop her she has less far to fall.

Then she starts giggling. "Malfoy your hair looks wonderful tonight."

I must admit that I agree with her there. My hair does look spectacularly coiffed this evening and I am glad that somebody has noticed, even if they are so sozzled that they can't even stand up. "Why thank you, Weasley. Your hair looks remarkably less bushy than usual."

It looks just as bushy as usual, but she grins with delight and adjusts her devil horns happily. "Where's the party gone?"

"We're taking the party back to Hogwarts!" Potter announces. (This is news to both myself and Goyle). He lunges forward and grabs two bottles of Firewhiskey from the table next to him, lifts them up to the air and lets out a holler of victory, before tucking one under his armpit, grabbing a handful of floo powder and disappearing in a flash of green.

"Well, Pot-head certainly has cheered up now that his cousin's conscious again," I comment drily.

I suddenly feel a hand on my leg, and then Weasley is standing in front of me. She used me to help her up? What am I? A banister! Goyle holds the floo powder pot out to her. "Say Hogwarts really clearly."

"Hogswash," is Weasley's worrying response.

"This will not end well," I declare. Jumping forward and grabbing some powder for myself and stepping into the fireplace with Weasley at my side. "Hold on," I tell her, before dropping the powder to my feet with a loud, "Hogwarts!"

Weasley is clinging round my neck with such a vice grip that I am half worried my head will simply pop off and be flung out of one of the many fireplaces we are passing as we spin around in a tornado of dust and green sparks.

Thankfully, it does not, and we smoothly arrive in a dusty heap on the floor of the deputy Head's office, coming to a skidding stop at Professor Longbottom's feet.

I look up to see his face bearing down on me. "Evening, Mr Malfoy. Or should I say morning. Off to bed with you, and no fuss."

Unfortunately Weasley has landed rather unceremoniously on top of me, and with blushing cheeks she manages to stumble up without damaging any crucial regions (her knee goes very close to a certain area...) and promptly collapses onto a wall. The painting next to her observes her in astonishment.

Professor Longbottom gives me a strange look as I stand up. "I suppose you are responsible for this."

"Professor," I assert confidently, "Why on earth would I be responsible for..."

"Corrupting the Head Girl?" He grins slightly. Clearly a more forgiving character than his gremlin of a son.

"I'm afraid this time it's all her doing." Which is true. Alright, I may have encouraged her to engage in a bit of drinking which under usual circumstances she is far too prudish and boring to even attempt, but that does not mean I am responsible for the stumbling oaf she has become. That is all her doing. And Huntworth's.

I reach over to her and allow her to link her arm in mine for support. "I will escort her to her room," I inform him politely.

"You have your moments, Malfoy, but deep down I think you're more sensible than you let on," Professor Longbottom declares, looking pensively at our linked arms. Even the deputy head thinks I am becoming a were-Hufflepuff. I knew it. My transformation is almost complete!

I'm going to have to sort this out before the entire school thinks I am a total milksop.

"Malfoy _dared_ me to drink firewhiskey," Weasley then declares, ruining the moment in its entirety. "He's _evil_."

Professor Longbottom smiles half-heartedly, "Or maybe not..."

Goyle then appears in the fireplace behind me and together we manage to persuade Weasley to stop stroking that lethal cactus, come with us and we'll sort you out.

Waiting for us in the hallway is a very impatient Longbottom and a very merry duo of Zabini and Potter.

"PARTY ON, MALFOY!" Zabini insists, thrusting a ¾ full bottle of firewhiskey into my empty hand. "Show this pathetic Gryffindor cur how to party like a Slytherin!"

Longbottom shakes his head with his arms folded. "If it wasn't a Saturday evening I would take points away from you."

"Stop being such a joykill, Ernest," Goyle says, taking the bottle from my hand and handing it to Longbottom.

Longbottom refuses to take it and shakes his head. "Oh no! Somebody has got to remain sober around here to keep you all in check. And what about Rose? I have to take her back to the Head's dorm."

He dives forward to take her arm, once again in a clear attempt to try dispute my manliness. What does he think? That I am incapable of taking an intoxicated girl who weighs about as much as a dried leaf up to her dorm?

Actually, now that I consider it, it sounds a bit dodgy. But, come on, it's _Weasley_. As if I would try something on her!

I scoop her up in my arms before Longbottom can reach her. "I know the password, it's fine."

Longbottom narrows his eyes at me. "I am _not_ letting you take her on your own. I'm coming with you."

Goyle looks quite taken aback. "I'm sure Malfoy knows the way."

Zabini and Potter let out a synchronised screech of excitement at this point, near deafening me in my right ear. Potter bounds over to me and flings an arm round my shoulders. "Let's _all_ go. Party in the Head's Common room! Hurrah!"

Potter then bounds towards Zabini and together they start skipping towards down the corridor. That is one image I never _ever_ thought I would see.

"Wrong way!" Goyle shouts.

This will be a long night.

* * *

"Malfoy?"

I look down in my arms to see Weasley looking at me with a most puzzling look upon her face. "What, Weasley?" Please don't tell me she is about to drunkenly insult me. I get enough of her calling me a cocky git when she's sober.

"I meant what I said."

I frown. "About me having lovely hair? I really do. I'm surprised you've never noticed it before."

"Not about that. About what I said to Goyle."

I look at her in confusion. "What did you say to Goyle?"

"It doesn't matter."

And then she promptly falls asleep.

Well, that was an interesting conversation. Not. I don't think she's ever passed up the opportunity to natter on endlessly about nothing whatsoever to me before, that or complain about something or other. I was half anticipating some remark about how my arms are bony, or that I smell too 'evil'.

I still can't believe she called me evil.

I will remind her of that tomorrow and hope that she severely recompenses for causing me so much emotional distress.

We, led by Longbottom, deposit Weasley on her bed, pull the covers over her and then return to the Head's Common room. Finally deciding it is safe to once again obtain a beverage (and seeing that it is only 12! Which is pitifully early for a Malfoy to be returning to bed, especially when it is now his birthday), I grab a glass of Firewhiskey.

In fact, I grab two. And to show Goyle that I am trying to not be so hateful towards her evil mite of a boyfriend (he's the evil one, not I) I hand one to him with a friendly smile. Or as friendly a smile I can muster whilst looking at his soily chops.

"Drink up, Longbottom," I say, lifting my glass.

He eyes the drink suspiciously.

"No, it's not poisoned. I may be a Slytherin but I have standards. I would never dare waste poison killing someone as pointless as you," I state, gulping my drink down in one and pouring another.

"Well. Thanks," Longbottom says, taking a delicate sip.

Don't know why he's sounding so offended. I just said I wouldn't poison him, and if _that's_ not extending the hand of friendship then I don't know what is.

* * *

00:42 am

"SING LONGBOTTOM!"

"I will not degrade myself thus..."

Goyle presses a glass to his lips and makes him drink further.

"HOGWARTS, HOGWARTS, HOGGY WARTY HOGWARTS..."

I turn to Zabini. "He's singing the school song, isn't he?"

"That is devotion, right there." Potter wipes a fake tear from his eye.

* * *

1:13 am

"Dare!" Zabini announces.

"I dare you to steal a pair of Longbottom's pants and wear them on your head!" Goyle says gleefully.

I grin cockily. "Kinky."

"Shut up, Malfoy," she screeches, throwing a pillow at my head.

* * *

1:16 am

"I am PANT-HEAD." Zabini clambers onto the coffee table. "I will protect this town from evil with my sidekick, _SOCK-HANDS_!"

Potter jumps up onto the sofa and jazz hands with a pair of Longbottom's socks on his hands.

Actually, would that make it jazz... socks?

"Evil... BEGONE!"

* * *

1:32 am

Shoooo...

Fir whiskle. Best thung evahhhhh!

PARDY TIME.

* * *

2:01 am

"Truth!"

"Who is your favourite Head Girl?"

"WEASHLEYYYYY! I LOBE HER!"

HA HA. Goysh is LAUGHIGN at me!

* * *

**A/N: Apologies for there not being much Weasley/Malfoy action in this chapter... More next time methinks. But anyway, Malfoy is finally starting to get over his immense hatred for Longbottom and that can only be a good thing, right?**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you think :)**

**Gco. x**


	14. Chapter 14

I am woken up by the pounding of my head.

From what I can currently feel, it appears that there is a platoon of miniature trolls are doing the cancan right on the top of my skull. Or perhaps in my skull. Even my eyes hurt when I manage to blink them open.

My vision is blurry, so I rub my eyes and blink again. The room is bright, the light almost burning my eyes. It must be midday at least.

And that's when it hits me.

I don't know where I am. This is not my room at Hogwarts, and this is _certainly_ not my room at home – the sickly pale green walls tell me that much. I would never pick such a vomit-inducing colour for my bedroom walls.

I sit up in bed and that's when I confirm my worst fears in my head. The evidence is overwhelming.

Firstly, I am in a stranger's bed. I don't even recognize this room. Is it Hogwarts? Sweet Merlin, I could be anywhere! For all I know I have been kidnapped and being held hostage in the hope that my parents will pay a hefty ransom.

I wonder how much my ransom is. At least 500,000 galleons, I reckon.

Secondly, I am practically naked. Only my underwear remains, but thankfully I have my best Dolce boxers on so any kidnappers will at least be assured of my wealth and therefore will ask a great deal for my ransom. Hurrah.

Thirdly, I am alone.

Alone except for a pile of armour on the bed next to me…. And a note...

_Birthday boy,_

_Congratulations on beating Longbottom in that drink-off last night! Though judging by the amount you consumed I doubt you can remember this victory_.

I beat Long-arse! Even when intoxicated I am a superior fellow. Hats off to King Malfoy, people.

_Unfortunately, your victory came at a price – you passed out next to the fireplace in the Head's Common Room. You were far too heavy to carry anywhere near your dorm so we dumped you in Longbottom's bed. _

_See you later, Goyle _

This is _Longbottom's_ bed. Eww. I thought I saw a speck of soil and some mouldy leaves lurking over there. I immediately jump off the sheets, with a promise to myself to shower as soon as possible.

I can't believe they just deposited me on Longbottom's filthy sheets.

Stumbling up to a standing position, my eyes fall on the rather dented pile of armour lying on the floor. The thought of putting them on and having to listen to the clanging all the way back down to the dungeons makes me want to let out a screeching cry of anguish, so I resort to diving with reluctance into Longbottom's absurdly tidy cupboard, eventually finding a neat pile of Quidditch gear.

It's not like Longbottom has _really_ worn these since first year, so although this is a risky endeavour. There is no whiff of garden about them and I draw the conclusion that they are clean enough for me to put on, though they may potentially be a tad small.

But, at the end of the day, better them than armour that will bang about as I walk leaving me with a worse headache than I currently have (if that were possible).

The top, bizarrely, is the correct width but reveals so much of my belly that I resemble a belly dancer, or a twelve-year old girl. Even I cannot pull off this frankly stupid look, so decide to go against wearing it. The Quidditch trousers, however, fit rather snugly. They reveal a significant amount of ankle, but are acceptable.

I don't know what time it is – for all I know, it could be mid-lunch time – so wandering around the school without a shirt is just an invitation for detention. I am saved by a neatly folded pile of school clothes obviously brought up by the house elves after having been washed.

Bingo. Longbottom's shirt will do nicely. And thankfully, it's clean!

I wander out of Longbottom's room, my head down as I do up the buttons of my shirt.

Perhaps if I had done my buttons up in his room, rather than waiting until I was leaving, then I wouldn't have jumped so high and screamed so girlishly when it became apparent that there was someone else in the room.

"Malfoy?"

Then was my aforementioned girlish scream. It happened to make my headache significantly worse.

I manage to compose myself pretty quickly, however, and continue doing up the buttons on the shirt as if I hadn't just emasculated myself beyond repair. Once they are complete, I finally look up.

Standing in front of me, with a look hovering somewhere between shock and distaste, is Weasley. Dressed only in a towel.

"Ah, Weasley," I remark, as suavely as possible, the sound of my hideously girly scream still echoing in my ears. "Funny how the tides turn, eh?"

Weasley peers down at herself, apparently having forgotten that she was only wearing a towel, and proceeds to blush violently. "Err... Well..."

"Fear not," I grin in response, delighting in her discomfort. This almost makes up for the time that my clothes melted off me in front of both her and her idiotic boyfriend. "I was just on my way out."

She throws a puzzled look towards Longbottom's ajar door. "Why were you here anyway?"

From the somewhat dumbfounded expression she is currently conveying, I get the feeling that she is jumping to a very strange conclusion.

"Did you and Longbottom..."

She leaves the question hanging long enough for me to give her a disapproving look. "You are meant to be the cleverest girl in our year, Weasel, but sometimes you can be incredibly stupid."

"It was a natural conclusion!"

"That me and Longbottom would share a bed?" I demand in horror. "Hardly. I can barely share a room with him without wanting to vomit over my Italian loafers."

Weasley peers past me into the room. "Well, where is he then?"

I almost choke (half with laughter, half with horror at the thought) as I say, "I'm sure Goyle knows."

"Oh," she stops looking into the room awkwardly, and hitches up her towel self-consciously.

"As delightful as this little rendez-vous is turning out to be," I sarcastically wave a hand in the air between us, "I have a hangover potion to locate and a soil removing shower to partake in. Though I have to say I have enjoyed your towel endeavours greatly."

Weasley looks scandalised, and her face and ears turn an even brighter more obvious shade of red. "I am not engaging in 'towel endeavours'. I have just had a shower which you _happened_ to catch me on the way back from!" She pulls her towel even more tightly around herself. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put some clothes on."

"That's a smashing idea, Weasley," I remark, just as the common room door swings open with a loud and resounding bang. I raise an eyebrow to look at the intruder, whilst Weasley jumps about twelve feet in the air and _almost _loses her grip on her towel.

"Get dressed for goodness sake, Rose," Albus remarks instantly, shaking his head at his cousin. I have to say I agree with him greatly. There is far too much nudity this year and it must end.

Weasley 'humphs' loudly then disappears up the small staircase up to her room without another word.

As soon as she's gone I turn to Albus with a pleading look in my eye. "Please tell me you have brought me hangover potion. Or at least some kind of energy potion. I feel like I am about to crumble and die right here on the floor."

"Nice tights," Albus grins at me, grabbing my saviour – a vial of rather vile pink looking liquid that I know only too well to be the best hangover cure. Better than a bacon sandwich, this stuff is. He throws it over to me with a smug looking smile.

"I love you," I declare, popping the cork out of the top of the vial and flinging the solution down my throat. It tastes suspiciously like goblin dung on the way down, but worth it for the almost immediate effect of bringing one back to life that it has. "Purely platonically, of course."

Almost instantly the relief in my head is impossible to describe. I smile happily as the slight feeling of nausea dissipates and my energy reappears.

"Did you get Goyle's note?" he asks.

"Yes, I see I am victorious against Long-arse yet again," I grin happily. The look Albus is giving me however, is not one of congratulation. It is one of pity. And it has a hint of amusement among the pitying looks as well.

It is a face that says I did (or said) something embarrassing yesterday. Something that far outstrips the honour and glory of having beaten Goyle in a drinkathon.

"What did I do?" I ask, interpreting his looks and feeling already slightly humiliated. "And leave nothing out. The Malfoy name depends on it."

"The thing is, Malfoy," Albus admits with a sigh. And I must say that is tone of voice is not the least bit promising. "You may have _slightly_ declared your undying love for a certain cousin of mine..."

"Hugo?" I declare in disgust. "Really, my drunken self makes some bizarre declarations. He is rather cool though. I wish I possessed half his panache."

Albus is almost shaking his head in disbelief.

"Why the hell would you first jump to Hugo?" He shakes his head, perhaps wondering if I am mad. I can only speculate. But the fact that I am wearing Longbottom's first year Quidditch trousers may be contributing to a conclusion of me being as barmy as a boggart. "I'm talking about..." he lowers his voice to a level of decibels only distinguishable by the most alert rabbits, "arrru arrrelee."

"What? I didn't quite catch that?"

Albus flicks a precautionary glimpse up to the door behind me. "Rose Weasley," he repeats slightly louder.

I very nearly faint. "WHAAT?" Then realising that she is standing a mere twenty feet away, shielded only from my voice by a rather flimsy wooden door I lower my voice significantly. "What? Why would I say such a thing?"

"We were playing truth or dare," Albus informs me.

I feel a sense of relief wash over me. "Oh, thank god. That explains everything. I was _dared_ to say it. Merlin, Albus, don't ever do that to me again."

Then Albus pokes me rather painfully in the abdomen. "No, you idiot. You admitted this little gem of information on a_ truth_!"

"A truth!" I blanche. There is no way I would admit such nonsensical things. Unless, perhaps I was being ironic or something. I am, of course, renowned for my fabulous wit so it was clearly just another example of that.

Not really a truth.

How can it be a truth if I am sitting here right now admitting that it is not a truth? Especially since my current admittance of it not being truth is when I am capable of making such a truthful declaration, ie. That I am entirely sober.

Albus taps his foot impatiently at me. "Well," he snarls, rather venomously.

"Well what? It's not true! I was incredibly tipsy and probably thought it would be a hilarious joke," I tell him of my ingenious theory. "Why else would I admit something so bizarre and completely un-Malfoy-ish?"

Merlin. Seriously damaging Malfoy reputation here, thank god only Albus is here to witness my complete loss of cool at this moment in time.

I am lost, _lost_ I tell you, as to why I would admit such a thing to any living soul!

Even if it were true, which I am quite certain it isn't, of all the people to disclose this delicate information, _why_ would it be her cousin and her ex-boyfriend! Illogical. Therefore, either Albus is lying now in telling me I said it, or I did not, in fact, say it at all.

Albus seems partly reassured. "I dunno. I thought it might really be true. You were trying to break her and Longbottom up at the beginning of the year so it _does_ make sense."

I wave a hand nonchalantly. "I was trying to break them up to take my revenge on Longbottom for taking over the position of Head boy."

"I did question that allocation myself, actually," Albus admits. "Not that I thought _you_ should get it. No offence, but I thought you were a slightly stuck up prick at the beginning of the year."

"None taken. I thought you were a wimpish mummy's boy. It appears all our impressions have in fact been misconceptions," I affirm, profoundly, I must admit.

"Mummy's boy!" He says in indignation. Apparently the 'no offence' comment not spreading to my declarations as well as his.

"Stuck up prick!" I remind him with a raised eyebrow.

"Truce," Albus admits, resorting to a manly handshake and a grin instead. There is something about these primitive hand gestures that just add to the manliness of one's self. Manliness that I definitely need to replenish judging by my old-woman screech earlier on. "Now are you going to come help me humiliate Long-arse when he does the walk of shame out of the Slytherin dorms, or what?"

"I like your thinking, good man."

"We'll get you out of those tights first," he decides, throwing a rather repulsed look at my legs.

"Actually they're Longbottom's Quidditch trousers from first year," I tell him. "And they're rather comfy."

"You look like a male ballet dancer."

I grimace. "I will fetch some trousers _then_ Longbottom humiliation can occur."

* * *

I arrive late to my own birthday gathering this afternoon.

It was Goyle's idea, to be fair. I was quite happy with my birthday party the night before being my time for attention and love – though perhaps my suit of armour costume brought me different attention than I had been hoping for.

Frankly, I couldn't really be bothered to sit in one of those horseless carriages and rattle along to Hogsmeade only to drink more alcohol, albeit only butterbeer, then to have to rattle back to Hogwarts in time for dinner. Such a massive effort.

Hangover potion is wonderful, but doesn't cure tiredness, unfortunately. So after managing to fall asleep in the rickety carriages for a significant amount of time, and no doubt do the trip to and from Hogsmeade several times, I rock up to the Three Broomsticks feeling rather more lacklustre than usual.

However, the prospect of the enormous cake in front of Goyle that I can see through the window as I arrive, I perk up greatly.

"Cake!" I announce with a wide grin.

"Happy Fiftieth Birthday, Malfoy!" Goyle smirks sarcastically, making an unwelcome reference to my tardiness. I think she is implying that she has been waiting so long that years and years have passed in that time. My, my what a witty girl she is indeed.

"I fell asleep in the carriage on the way over," I inform her with a slight twinge of embarrassment. I am only adding to the old man persona by admitting to this. It is quite impressive to fall asleep in one of those awful rickety things.

"Merlin, you hit eighteen and immediately become elderly," she looks at me with a grin. "Happy Birthday, anyway. May your year be filled with idiocy and zimmerframes."

What a toast to the future that is.

"Idiocy it most certainly shall be," I concede, chinking my butterbeer glass with those around me. Namely most of the Slytherins in our year and Albus and Hugo, looking very awkward in the corner and wearing green jumpers so as to stealthily blend into the vast potted plant behind them, I presume.

I dart over to them straight away and plonk my exhausted, but still delectable, derriere between them. Then I take an enormous gulp of butterbeer, praying that it gives my broken body some much needed energy.

If not, then excessive cake consumption will prevail.

"Having fun, lads?" I enquire, throwing a gloomy look at the menacing Slytherins that I am surrounded by. Sitting in the Gryffindor corner as it were, I am struck by how clique-y we all look. Decked out in green scarves and shirts emblazoned with the Slytherin crest, we are a rather intimidating bunch.

No wonder Hugo and Albus are cowering in fear.

"We're having a ball, thanks Malfoy," Albus squeaks out, taking a sip of his butterbeer. I notice how he has not let it leave his hand... perhaps he is worried that some of my housemates will poison him. Unlikely as I know their true personalities (that of total wimps and pussy-footers) but of course from an outsiders perspective these are the evil warlocks of the future.

I cast a pensive look at Harvey Flint and try to imagine him orchestrating an evil plan. It seems intensely unlikely, since last time he tried to organise a Slytherin Quidditch celebration party he forgot a) the food, b) any form of alcohol, or any beverage at all and c) to invite people.

Thus, you can imagine my dubiety that he will ever be Voldy mark II.

"Grab some cake, we'll head down to that Hog place," I tell them, as the Slytherins are all starting to get a little antsy and I am sensing that it is nearing that hour.

The hour upon which all dating hell descends upon the poor village of Hogsmeade. Where droves of couples batter the well-worn path down to Puddifoot's to engage in mindless conversation in the vague hope of contracting a snog in one of the hidden crevices of the castle within the coming weeks.

Usually this hour was my time to shine.

Today this hour is my time to become nourished with fine cake and a butterbeer beverage.

One by the one, as predicted, everyone takes their leave. Including, I must admit, Goyle who profusely apologises for missing her birthday to lavish soil upon my greatest enemy, but promises she will give me a birthday present that will make up for it all.

I strongly suspect that she has not yet purchased said present, and thus will take Longbottom on a search for it. He will aid her, knowing his bossy self, and thus I will end up with something bizarre and frankly something only Long-butt-cheeks would adore. Like a self-cleaning cactus. Or a tray of garden themed biscuits.

Eventually, it is just Albus, Hugo, the cake and I. We abandon the plan of heading down to the Hog's Head and all take this opportunity to dig in, regardless of whatever Quidditch regimen diets we may be on.

"This is heavenly," I mumble through mouthfuls of cake.

Albus nods his agreement, his mouth too full to even form words. Hugo just smiles. This is perhaps the first time he has smiled at me since his darn sister admitted she'd been having dirty dreams about me to him.

In fact. Speak of the devil...

"Is that my sister?" Hugo pipes up.

"... with Josh King?" Albus adds in.

"Filthy hypocrite Gryffindor. Ruins my date but is perfectly happy to nab one for herself," I grumble in protestation. Because really. If it weren't for her, I would be on my way to a delightful date with Sara right now.

But no.

Because Miss Control-freak decided to dive right in there and mess it all up by saying that Nooooo Sara couldn't go with me because bliddy _Rose_ herself was going with me.

Blatant. Hypocrisy.

"What are you on about Malfs?" Albus demands.

"We need to go ruin that date," I inform them cryptically. "Who's with me!" I raise the cake knife into the air, akin to King Arthur and his merry men, or whoever they are.

Albus looks a little confused, to say the least. "You told me you didn't like her. So what reason can you possibly suggest for wanting to ruin her date with Josh King? He's a perfectly respectable guy! One of the hot seven if I remember correctly!"

Hot seven? Merciful Lord, I forgot! He's that rare and mysterious breed: the Hunky Ravenclaw. Good looks, chiselled muscles and a _brain_.

Lethal combination. Especially when faced with a book-worm adorer such as Weasley. If Longbottom excites her then she'll be declaring her undying love for this chiselled Quidditch player by 3pm.

"_She_ ruined my date for me, therefore it is only just that _I_ ruin hers," I declare. "She told Sara that I couldn't go to Hogsmeade with her because I was already taken."

"Taken by whom?"

"Who do you think? Rose! She was all 'Oh he's going with me, sorry'," I angrily plunge the knife into the remaining slither of cake. "She can't ruin my fun and expect to get away with it."

Albus and Hugo let out an 'Oh' of understanding simultaneously.

Then Hugo pipes up, "I _love _ruining dates."

Albus gives him a disconcerted look. "Which other dates have you ruined?"

"Ever wondered why Katie Fuller left your date in fourth year with the rather meagre excuse that she 'had a verruca she urgently needed to deal with'?" Hugo asks mischievously, an evil glint in his eye.

"That was _you_?"

* * *

Madame Puddifoot's is looking as unmanly as usual. The pink confetti sprinkling table centres are on full power, so looking through the window to the cafe floor is rather like looking into an overtly pink snowglobe.

The tables are decorated with the usual flurry of pinks doilies and pink flowered cups and saucers, and the 'feature wall' displaying famous couples that met in this establishment embarrassingly has a large ominous picture of a rather murderous Father-Malfoy and a swooning Mummy-Malfoy on their wedding day.

It brings a tear of pain to my eye every time I hear Mother recall their fateful meeting in Puddifoot's. There was some huge drama about Father dating her sister, then her interfering on a date... the story has long since bored me to tears that I endeavour to ignore it whenever it is whipped out.

Hugo, Albus and I are busy scanning the cafe for any signs of a bush of gingerness, and before long we have located our doomed couple on the table in the corner at the right.

"Right," I announce happily, "I'm going in."

"What?" Albus declares, looking horrified. "You're just going to walk in on their date?"

"Oh yes," I grin. "That date is about to get a very unwelcome, very awkward third wheel."

Hugo starts cackling maliciously. "I love Slytherins, they're just so evil."

"Why thank you, Hugo. But do not underestimate your great skill in this plotting and planning field, I quite respect your talent," I respond, dimly aware that I am perhaps trying a little too hard to remain on this boy's good side.

But I think we have discussed how merciless he could potentially be if you get into his bad books. Not a risk I am willing to take.

"So you're just going to go in," Albus repeats in blank eyed bewilderment, "and third wheel."

"The concept is unfamiliar with you, I see," I smile sympathetically and pat his back. "I simply march on in there and make it sufficiently awkward until one of them, hopefully Josh, depart."

"I like it. Simple, but effective," Hugo compliments me.

"Time to implement it boys," I wring my hands together, feeling the rush of adrenaline. "Keep watch in case of fisticuffs."

As I head towards the door to the cafe, I hear Albus behind me mutter in shock, "Fisticuffs! What is he planning?"

Ah. He will see. Indeed he will.

I march right in there, initially obtaining some strange looks, after all it is quite bizarre to see an individual come in without a date latched on to their arm. Particularly someone who is as dashing and worldly as myself.

But as I head to the back, the heads turn back to their partners, except for one head. A rather startled looking Weasley is looking my way in a manner that suggests she senses that I have locked my target on her and is telepathically telling me to go away.

Whatever. She can bugger right off.

I approach the table with undisguised confidence. Grabbing a chair from a table nearby I pull it up inbetween them, grab a menu and sit down.

"I've heard the Earl Grey here is quite exceptional," I remark, peering at the list of teas and coffees from the menu. I want to laugh so badly, but I am using all available energy to maintain a straight face. I cannot laugh. It will ruin everything.

I look up from the menu to see the effect on my companion's.

Josh is looking a tad confused, but not angry in the slightest. If anything, the furrow between his brows tells me that he is _just_ about to strike up a Quidditch related conversation since the season is starting soon.

His expression, however, greatly contrasts from his neighbour's.

The look of pure hatred, and great irritation on Weasley's face says it all. But, I can't help wanting to whisper to her, I've only just started the fun!

* * *

**A/N: I cannot express enough apologies for how ludicrously late this is. I wish I could have updated sooner, but I had University exams (don't do Medicine, so much to learn!) so had little time for anything other than revision, revision, eating cake and more revision.**

**I will try my hardest indeed to ensure that this is updated as regularly as I can throughout the holidays as I know everything just goes to pot as soon as term starts again, so forgive me.**

**Regardless, I hope this chapter was a bit of a consolation - it is significantly longer than usual. Purely accidental, I just got on a roll and then I can never find a place to stop. If you have a spare minute, let me know what you think - I'd love to get some feedback about how you think the story is going!**

**Thanks, Gco. x**


	15. Chapter 15

You may be wondering, I suppose, why Weasley did not immediately demand why I was present and order that I leave on pain of death. This would be her usual course of action, for sure.

Well, that is easy to explain.

I have followed her lead. I have learnt from the past and adopted her favourite past-time – putting silencing charms on people. A 'silencio' charm does the job nicely. I can definitely see why she loves using it so much.

So she doesn't (or more accurately, physically _can't_) verbally protest when I turn to Josh and inform him that there has been the most grievous misunderstanding.

"You see, she already agreed to accompany me to Hogsmeade today..." I throw her a patronising look, "She had a fit of jealousy when Sara tried to convince me to change my plans."

I can sense her growling next to me and feel her repeatedly kicking my foot under the table.

And I am acutely aware of the fact that although she cannot speak, being a book-wormish nerd the chances are she is incredibly skilled in the whole non-verbal spells ballpark. Thus my nether regions are in jeopardy if she hexes them under the table.

"If you wanted to play footsie, you could have just asked," I inform her, in mild amusement. I turn to look at Josh with an eye roll, "Women!"

Josh is still looking slightly dumbfounded. Unless gormless is his natural facial expression. It's hard to tell. "Rose agreed to go to Hogsmeade with you?" The dumb-foundedness turns slowly to an expression of the greatest amusement, as if this is the best gossip his hunky Ravenclaw head has obtained in many a moon.

I suppose it is rather hard to believe considering that up until September this year I don't think I had spoken to her, except to loudly tell her ginger-related jokes across the Great Hall. The thought of us sitting together in _Puddifoot's_ must be difficult for people to imagine. However, it is no less shocking than Weasley going on a date with Josh, who is not her usual geeky type.

It is very rare for her to be inviting these significantly more attractive sporty types and to a place like _Puddifoot's_. Normally I would expect her to settle for perhaps the least romantic locations as possible, such as the library or Great Hall during homework hour on a Friday afternoon.

"Technically _she _invited _me_," I inform him with a grimace. "Birthday treat apparently."

"Puddifoot's?" Josh mumbles at me as he gets his jacket from the back of his chair to leave, "Great birthday treat, mate." He grins sarcastically in my direction, and this is the first hint that I get that there is something afoot here. This is most certainly not a date, otherwise Josh would most certainly have challenged my interference and demanded a duel of honour.

"I'm a lucky man," I manage to say without a hint of sarcasm.

He slips his jacket onto his shoulders and then drops down to say in my ear, "You know you said about Sara..."

"Dateless as far as I know," I smirk, recognising the cheeky look in his eye. Yes, he is most definitely not on a date here. Which brings forward the question... Why on earth is Weasley hanging out with a boy in Puddifoot's if it is not a date?

Very interesting behaviour occurring here.

I will get to the bottom of it.

"Excellent," he says, before standing up again and giving Weasley (who is looking intensely murderous right now) a jaunty wave, and raises a hunky Ravenclaw eyebrow just an inch. There is a look of some description passing between them. Suspicious indeed. "I'll catch you later, Rose."

Weasley blushes an astonishingly bright shade of magenta.

Whatever that look meant, it was clearly _something_. And presumably something of great embarrassment.

"Earl Grey?" I ask with a questioning tone as soon as he leaves the café with another inscrutable look towards Weasley on the way out. "It is remarkably fine here."

She just stares at me, and I can tell from the way her eyes appear to be flashing that she is quite annoyed. Either because I have stopped her date and silenced her, or more likely because Josh King was giving her very _strange_ looks just then.

"Earl Grey it is," I decide happily, ordering it from a passing house elf waiter, who is looking rather puzzled that Weasley has swapped her date. Perhaps he thinks she is some sort of saucy serial dater. Or maybe the school scarlet woman.

Actually probably not the latter, her skirts aren't nearly short enough for her to pass off as a lady of the night.

"So, you and King, eh?" I raise an eyebrow. "Interesting."

She just sits there and I can hear her tapping her foot impatiently against the floor.

"Oh! Silencing charm!" I remember, quickly muttering the counter-charm. "My apologies."

Her tongue finally released from the silencing charm, she jumps on the opportunity to start complaining about me. A rant which, thanks to years of listening to Professor Longbottom whittle on about mosses and weeds I am capable of blocking out almost entirely. In fact I am only roused from my self-induced coma of ignorance when Weasley throws a handful of confetti in my eye.

"Are you even _listening _to me?" She screeches under her breath. "You are so rude!"

"Ouch woman! Are you trying to blind me?!" I retrieve a piece of confetti that has lodged itself in my eyelashes, where it was wavering perilously close to giving me a papercut on my eyeball.

"Yes!"

"Harsh, Weasley. Harsh," I say, depositing the offending confetti onto the floor. "Though I suppose I should have expected it from a Gryffindor. Anything to harm a Slytherin, eh? Even confetti wounds on their eye."

Weasley just ignores me and jumps straight to the point. "What are you doing here?"

"Apart from nearly losing my sight, I am here for a cup of tea." Her expression implies that she does not believe me. Whatever, let us see what she has to say to the same question. "The question is what are _you_ doing here? I thought you were allergic to dates."

"Tell me why you're _really_ here."

I sigh deeply. "Since you ruined my date, I took it upon myself to ruin yours."

Weasley lets out a rather ominous growling noise. "It _wasn't _a date."

"Not a date?" I repeat questioningly. "Don't try to fool me, you're in _Puddifoot's_. This is date territory."

"I like the Earl Grey here," she says by way of explanation. Which, in all honesty, is not really an acceptable direction of reasoning whatsoever. Regardless of the quality of the tea here, one only steps foot in this place _if_ it is a date.

Or a fake date.

This is a possibility, now that I consider it. Of course I have never been on a fake date myself (who would want to fake it, when I look this smashing) but I understand the concept of making someone jealous by instigating a fake date with either their best friend or greatest enemy.

I doubt Josh has enemies, however. He is far too gormless for someone to hate him.

"I see what's going on here," I remark, pointing at her in a accusatory manner. "You were on a fake date."

"That notion is ridiculous."

"That notion is _not_ ridiculous. Why else would you be in Puddifoot's with a boy who is interested in something other than Golpalott's third law," I demand.

"I was tutoring him."

"Ha! Tutoring in _what_? Tea drinking?... Fake-dating?"

Weasley rolls her eyes. "Think about it logically, Malfoy. Why on _earth_ would I be on a fake date?"

"You tell me," I add, with an air of mystery. "It is your fake date after all, I can merely speculate."

"Speculate away," she demands. "You will be here a long time."

"The first possibility is that secretly you are in love with Josh King, but the only way he will take you on a date is if you say that it is fake," I inform her. "But I don't think you're desperate enough for that option, so perhaps it is number two."

"What's that?"

"The fact that you are here in Puddifoot's which is such classic date domain, implies that you are over-compensating for this fake date, which implies that you are trying to make someone jealous by being seen here with another male." Weasley shakes her head imperceptibly with amusement. She is just too blown-away by my marvellous deductions. "However, since the only males that will step within fifty foot of this place are ones on dates, then I can conclude that your chosen Long-bum replacement is currently a taken man... And that he is _here_ as we speak."

I take the opportunity for maximal Weasley embarrassment and stand up to peer around the room. As I predicted she starts complaining that I am 'drawing attention to the fact she is sitting with a loser' (I resent that description), so I jump on my chair for a better view.

I am peering around with a hand on my brow to lengthen my vision when our tea arrives. The house elf gives me a disgruntled look, but does not even attempt to coerce me down from standing on the chair.

"Everyone in here is in fourth year or below," I conclude, jumping down elegantly and pulling a teacup towards me. I throw her an accusatory smirk, "Which one is it then, cradle-snatcher?"

"Cradle-snatcher!"

"Yeees, it is one who lusts after individuals far younger than themselves," I inform her sarcastically. An irritated sigh tells me that she was quite aware of its definition, and disapproved of my sarcasm. "Who's the lucky boy toy then?"

"Toy boy? Really, Malfoy, you must have your head screwed on the wrong way to come to that conclusion!"

I am suddenly hit with an image of myself with my head on backwards... it is quite disturbing.

"Toy boy... Boy toy. Whatever it is, who is he?" I ask. "I need to warn him off your predatorial style of getting dates with little boys."

"I am not trying to get a date with a little boy, now if you could stop shouting it around Puddifoot's then that would be great," she snarls, leaning across the table to me menacingly.

"Tell me why you were here with King. Or..."

"Or what?" She folds her arms in defiance.

"Or I'll go over to that second year over there and tell him that you fancy him," I grin mischievously.

"I'll just silence you."

"Then I will use sign-language. Or write it on his napkin. Whichever appears easier at the time."

"I'll tie you to your chair."

I smirk fervently. "Little bit inappropriate for company, darling," I drawl, pouring tea into both of our cups. She doesn't even respond to me. Just puts her head in hands, perhaps wishing that I would just scuttle off and stop annoying her.

Like that's ever going to happen. It is far too entertaining. Besides, it being my birthday means that I have the right to bully without fear of repercussions.

"It was King who wanted to come here," Weasley finally admits. I grin with the sense of achievement that I am on the path to weaning the truth out of this obstinate rock. "I suggested the Three Broomsticks."

It breaks my heart that I could have interrupted their date by flinging cake at their unfortunate heads instead of having to blunder into Puddifoot's and risk having confetti plunged into my retina. Mind you, that would have been quite a waste of a fine cake.

"That doesn't answer my question of why you wished to meet up with him in the first place," I remark. "I will sit here until you admit you were on a date."

She takes a sip from her tea, then adds several teaspoons of sugar – apparently deciding that it wasn't quite sweet enough for her already. "Fine then. I was on a date."

I feel a sudden unwelcome rush of swirling madness in my stomach, and I put my cup on the table with a loud chink. "Why the hell were you on a date with King?"

She looks a tad taken aback from my slightly venomous outburst. "I wasn't. I just want you to shut up, and that seemed like the only way."

I point a finger at her in frustration. "You...you..._trickster_."

"Why are you being so nosy anyway?" She moans in annoyance.

"I told you. I am here to ruin your date as punishment for ruining mine with Sara," I remind her. "You deserve punishment for that horrid offence." I swirl my spoon round in my tea to mix the sugar more evenly within the cup.

Weasley gives me a degrading look. "Are you telling me that you would actually have enjoyed a date with frog-kidney-Sara?"

My eyes open wide as I look at Weasley in discontentment. She is so oblivious, bless her heart. It is not about _who_ one goes to Puddifoot's with, particularly if it is just a one off date, but it is required of me to be seen in public with a female every Hogsmeade weekend so as to maintain my rather sterling reputation of lady-charmer.

Clearly she has been spending far too much time holed up in a library with her face buried within the dusty pages of historic potions books, and not enough time absorbing the niggling cultural traditions of the Hogwarts populace.

"I'm sure I would have done. It can't be any worse than sitting with you whilst you eye up underage wizards," I remark, throwing an amused glare with a glint of disapproval in her direction.

She takes a deep breath, as if trying to prevent herself from diving across the table and pouring the teapot of boiling tea on my luscious white-blonde locks. "Well, I'm sorry I 'ruined' your date with Sara. But it was not necessary to barge in whilst I was busy with King."

I smirk widely. "Ah... so you were _busy_ with him, were you? The mystery ever deepens."

"Stop taking things the wrong way!"

"I speak only the truth," I inform her morosely, finishing off the last dregs of tea in my cup and standing up. "Now, this has been delightful, but I have further cake consumption to engage in." I wind my green silk scarf firmly around my neck, it may only be October but I am not risking catching the ague at this time of year. With my porcelain skin it only leads to blindingly red nose. "See you later."

I drop a galleon on the table and have only stepped about three feet from it when I feel a small hand grasp my elbow and yank me back with considerable force. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Keep your hair on, Weasel. I am departing; I thought I made that perfectly clear."

I am chastened by the devil-like qualities of the glare she gives me. "You can't just barge in on my date and then just _leave_."

I spin to face her. "So you _admit_ it was a date."

"It wasn't a date."

I raise a pensive finger to my chin akin to Sherlock. "But you just said it was..."

"I didn't mean to say... Whatever, I don't even know why you felt you had to interrupt, we were having an interesting conversation before you barged in and started babbling about Earl Grey."

I roll my eyes and continue on my path out of the café. Weasley stumbles along behind me, putting on her coat as she walks. In fact I am rather impressed with her ability to put a coat and a scarf on in the same rather jerky motion. Admittedly it has resulted in her scarf trapping the ends of her hair and pushing the rest of it up into a large gingery ball around her head.

"I was not babbling about Earl Grey, I just mentioned its superior quality in this particular establishment."

"I don't care _what_ you came over to talk about, you were unwelcome."

I throw her a mock-insulted puppy-dog glazed look and sniff loudly. "All I've ever wanted is for you to welcome me to your table."

"No table of mine is welcome to you," she snorts loudly and derisively as we land on the street in front of Albus and Hugo who are looking rather confused. I can tell from the slight pink on the end of their noses that they have had their noses pressed up against the glass to observe the progression of my third-wheeling plan.

Hugo looks between us with a strange expression. "What are you two talking about? Tables?"

Albus shrugs. "Weirdos."

Weasley huffs haughtily. "We were discussing how Malfoy's presence was unwanted."

"Lying, Weasel, is not becoming of tiny ginger house elves like yourself," I inform her smartly. "I was _clearly _wanted. You wanted to tie me to the table!"

Hugo raises an eyebrow and his lip twitches ominously. This looks like the sign of a boy who is thinking about his sister's dirty dreams and questioning what sort of strange practices she has been engaging in within them.

Weasley looks at her brother with a pleading expression. "He's taken that completely out of context! He said I wanted to date a fourth year."

"No _you _said you wanted to date a fourth year."

Now both Albus and Hugo are looking at their relative with mildly concerned faces. I decide to join in the accusatory glare parade and turn my head to give her my best patronizing smirk. She takes one look between the three of us and sniffs disdainfully.

"I give up on you three. I'll see you at dinner."

Hugo fixes me with a scrutinizing gaze as she walks away trying to release her wild mane of ginger hair from where it has been trapped by her scarf, and says, "You have truly mastered the art of winding Rose up."

Albus grins widely. "Welcome to the family."

"Honestly," Hugo adds imploringly. "You're better than me and I've had 15 years worth of experience. You need to give me some tips."

"Ah, young Weasley," I remark with the tone of a wizened old chap, "I'm afraid some of us are just _born_ with this talent."

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was a lot of fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it!  
Gco. x**


	16. Chapter 16

"You there," I march into the Great Hall with determination and position myself right next to the Ravenclaw table where Josh King is sitting. The surrounding Ravenclaws look a little startled at my sudden and, rather dramatic, arrival.

"Malfoy, cheers for the heads up on the Sara situation." He flicks me a grateful, and somehow gloating, look. It appears that _somebody_ got lucky in the Hogwarts broom cupboard snogging stakes.

I wave my hand nonchalantly through the air. "It was nothing." Truly it was not nothing. In a sense I had abandoned my manliness by letting another man take over a date which I myself should have been on.

And on my birthday no less.

Only Weasley is to blame for this horror, but she is too busy being mad at me for calling her a cradle-snatcher. I bloody hope I am not paired with her in practical Defence Against the Dark Arts this week because the pink hair hex will be the least of my worries.

No doubt I will come out of that class missing several vital parts of my anatomy.

"Hey," King points his fork at me in a mockingly accusing manner, "You helped me get a date with one of the hottest girls in school. And a _non-Puddifoot's_ date too. Do you _know_ how rare they are?"

"A non-Puddifooter?" I remark, impressed. Darn it. I missed out on a non-Puddifooter! They are such a rare breed!

By the sounds of it, Weasley is the only non-Puddifooter left in the year... but _wait_. Do not forget that she _was_ Puddifooting. All hope is lost then.

"I know!" King looks equally surprised. "No more having to suffer through a cup of that vile Earl Gross tea again."

He insulted Earl Grey.

Must. Remain. Calm.

Interrogation is not yet complete. In fact interrogation has not yet _started_. You see, if Weasley was so averse to informing me of her blindingly obvious fake date intentions then it was the only natural course of action to go after her fake date.

Perhaps he can shed light on her bizarre cradle-snatching behaviour.

"Talking of Earl _Grey_," I pointedly intone the latter word to emphasise his error of loquacity, "Why were you drinking Earl Grey with Miss Weasley at precisely eleven minutes past three this afternoon?"

I sound so marvellously Sherlock like, that I am half tempted to transfigure a spoon on the table into one of those little pipes to look even more authentic. I could totally pull of the Sherlock hat, I have the perfectly coiffed hair for it, plus I have been complimented on my quizzical brow.

"This afternoon?" King looks amused, but jumps up from the table all the same, a stealthy glance my way that all but screams 'we shall continue this in private good man'. And with a wave to his friends he starts walking and I fall into step beside him. As we leave the Hall he whispers in a furtive tone. "We were... talking."

"She claims you were tutoring," I inform him. I think my precise intonation of this sentence emphasised my disbelief of it being true.

He lets out a bellow of laughter. "Only Rose would claim she was tutoring in Puddifoots."

"Precisely." I remark. "Which implies it is not true. Now the only plausible explanation is that you were on a _fake date_."

"We weren't on a fake date."

I raise an eyebrow. No fake date. Clearly I am not cut out for this Sherlock biz. "Then what _were_ you doing in Puddifoots?"

King sighs and casts a look around the Entrance Hall to check for creepy little second years that like to listen in on things and report it to the school paper's gossip column. Or to the Daily Prophet if you're a child of a war hero and happen to have embroiled yourself in a juicy scandal – such as going on an apparently fake date.

"She needed my advice about... something," King tells me mysteriously. "I suggested Puddifoots. Any more questions?"

Hmm. An interesting conundrum indeed. And something my Sherlock mind is revelling in discovering the answer to. "What sort of... advice?"

"Look," King remarks, his eye drawn towards the stairs from the first floor where a certain Non-Puddifooting Sara is leaping down with a rather flirtatious wiggle, "you're going to have to ask her about it." And with that he scuttles off with the triumphant walk of a man who has found a cupboard partner. Merlin damn it.

The puzzle ever deepens with this Weasley creature. I could ponder forever, but the whimsical actions of the world's must infuriating witch will continue to elude me.

* * *

"Zabini!"

My arrival at the Slytherin table is fraught with anger. My ice blonde hair is standing on end, crackling with the fury of a million harpies. My left eyelid is twitching with the ferocity of a Grindylow trapped in pondweed. And I am staring, oh-so-menacingly at the boy eating his toast with the semblance of innocence.

I know what he's done.

"Good morning, Scorpy darling," Goyle pipes up, sipping from a cup of coffee.

"Is it, Goyle? IS IT? Because some deep down part of me thinks that perhaps this morning isn't so great after all, and do you know why?"

Goyle snorts. "Really, you are quite the drama queen."

I ignore her (obviously). "I'll tell you why. I have been _betrayed_."

"Betrayed?" Zabini coughs out through a mouthful of toast. "How so?"

I fling a crumpled piece of parchment on the table. Crumpled only because I have been clutching it in my fist for the past twenty minutes as I paced my room in anguish. "A letter from my mother. "

Zabini picks it up gingerly from the table and a quick skim read tells him enough that his eyebrows jump into the air and he lets out a little squeak of delight.

"Read it out then," Goyle demands.

"_Dearest Scorpy, Mummy here!" _Zabini chortles. "Mummy. Mr I'm-so-suave-Malfoy calls his mother _Mummy_. At 18."

"Skip to the second paragraph Zabby," I snap, noticing the disapproving looks from some second year Slytherins. I bet they still call their mum Mummy. They are in no position to judge.

"_On another note, I am delighted to hear about your new girlfriend. Your grandmother is simply dying to meet her! Perhaps you can invite her to the manor over Christmas?"_ Zabini then begins laughing and Goyle introduces her hyena like cackle to the mix.

"GIRLFRIEND." I shriek. "Which one of you BUFFOONS told my mother I have a girlfriend!?"

Goyle pats me on the back, rather patronizingly, "It really isn't so bad, Malfs. I mean, so what your mum thinks you have a girlfriend? It'll get her off your case about finding your true love in Puddifoots like she did."

"Zabini, please enlighten us with the next paragraph," I flick my attention back to Zabini who looks just about ready to die from ill-suppressed glee.

"_Your friend mentions that you two are getting rather serious… I was beginning to worry that you would never hold a girl down – you don't really have your father's charm with the ladies, so it is wonderful to hear that you are so happy_."

Goyle shrugs her shoulders. "What's wrong with that?" Then she takes one look at my grief stricken face and her mouth splits into an enormous grin of delight. "Oh wait! Little Scorpy doesn't want to upset Mummy by breaking it to her that he truly is a retard with the ladies!"

She makes it sound so bad.

"The point is," I change the subject quickly, before they continue taking the piss out of me, "one of you selfish blast ended skrewts decided to inform my mother, and _grandmother_ by the looks of it, that I have a girlfriend. And I want you to confess to it."

"I am not confessing anything," Zabini remarks.

"Nor me," adds Goyle, "since I was not involved in this madness."

Merlin, there better be some veritaserum lurking around in the Potions store cupboard that I can unleash upon these dastardly beings I call my friends to secure a confession.

Who else should saunter over to our table at this point, when I am lurking in misery over a cup of tea and a croissant, but Long-arse and his venomous tentacular like claws which with an almost magnetic ability find their way to Goyle's arse in seemingly no time at all.

"Morning Malfoy."

Morning.

Malfoy.

Do I detect a greeting of moderate politeness? I peer up from my croissant with a look of confusion etched onto my face.

Where I was expecting to see an apologetic smile with a raised brow that was a plea for friendship, I instead found one of the most menacing, and downright Slytherin-esque, smirks that I have ever seen on a Gryffindor.

What is it with the sorting hat recently? Half of Gryffindor nowadays seem to be at least 85% Slytherin.

It is only with this smirk, coupled with the mingled look of horror and admiration on Goyle's face that it dawns on me.

"It was _you_."

Longbottom sneers. "You thought I was going to let you get away with feeding me potions, usurping my position as Head Boy and stealing my favourite pants?"

I am struck, at this moment, with a newfound sense of several emotions that I have never experienced before.

The first is one of a realisation that my initial impressions of someone have been utterly wrong. How could I have thought Longbottom had soil for brains, when he whips out this trump card? I have been totally out-Slytherin-ed. And by a GRYFF no less! Woe betide me.

The second is one of deep respect for my arch-nemesis that he has fought back despite his inferior brain, looks and charm.

The third is one of deep disgust as Goyle's realisation of her boyfriend's Slytherin tendencies inspires her to molest him over the cornflakes. Really. Surely they have had enough of each other's tongues for one lifetime. I certainly have seen enough of his bum-groping for this life and the next.

I stand up and stumble backwards in puzzlement.

Longbottom has outwitted me. LONGBOTTOM.

"Touché, Ernest." A suction like noise follows this as Longbottom detaches himself from an overly-amorous Goyle, and smirks his finest smirk. It is almost like looking in a mirror – except for the fact that my hair isn't flattened to my forehead and I don't have an enormous nose.

Longbottom holds out his non-groping hand across the table. "No hard feelings, eh, Malfs?"

I take his hand gingerly, with a quick note to myself to wash it later. Merlin knows what sorts of disgusting beasties travel in the soil he constantly fraternizes with. We shake hands. "This doesn't mean we're friends, Long-arse."

"Don't even go there, Slytherin ponce."

And we have returned to our usual method of communication – that of insults – and I feel supremely more comfortable.

Goyle, bless her heart, looks ready to die from happiness that her true love and best friend are no longer trying to sabotage each other. And grins at me before diving back onto Longbottom with renewed ferocity.

Zabini shrugs his shoulders at me. "You've been Soil-for-brain-ed."

Like I needed him to tell me. I already knew that I had been massively soil-for-brain-ed. Longbottom had defied everything I thought he was incapable of and put me in an incredibly awkward situation.

I leave the Great Hall with a great feeling of despair that I am not even capable of beating Longbottom. Merlin.

Longbottom – One million gazillion. Malfoy – nil.

* * *

**A/N: My greatest sincerest apologies about the huge period of time between updates. I cannot even begin to express how hectic my life has become. This chapter was a long time coming, I hope it is OK. **

**More will be here soon! **

**Gco. x**


	17. Chapter 17

Weasley is looking oddly irate this morning.

I mean, we are in Potions, perhaps the frizzy hair could be attributed to the humidity of the dungeons. But the face like a deeply disturbed slapped fish? Oh something's happened, alright.

Unfortunately the depths of my perception for this craziest of all the crazy people in the world has seemingly started to lapse. Where I used to be able to easily determine exactly why she was in a foul mood (most often because I was the perpetrator of said foul mood), now I am at a loss.

All I can say is that poor seaslug. It does not deserve to be chopped up with such venom. I mean, it gave its _life_ for her education, and she treats it with such anger.

I decide to intervene, on the slug's behalf. I grab her chopping arm and stop it in mid-air. "What has that poor sea slug done to you?"

The little twisting wrist action she is pulling at the moment may potentially end up with one of us being decapitated so I let go of her hand.

She ignores me and continues mutilating the poor slug.

I bet that slug had friends, a home… a _future_.

I sidle over to Al who lets out a snort of laughter as I appear next to him and a piece of snot is propelled into our potions. What a delightful creature he is. "Longbottom!" is all he says. I can tell from his facial expression (and unstoppable guffaws) that he is once again reliving the moment when Longbottom confessed to ruining my life.

The day Malfoy was out-Slytherin-ed provides no end of entertainment for him.

"Never mind Longbottom, what on earth is wrong with your cousin?"

Al peers past my shoulder and nearly gasps in horror at the murderous expression on Weasley's face. He shivers as though just the mere sight of her is like meeting a dementor. "What have you _done_, Malfoy? You've created a monster!"

I balk. "I fail to see how this is _my_ fault!"

"I don't know anyone else who can make her glare like that," Al admits. He shivers again – this time it must be for dramatic effect. He gives me a reproaching look. "Maybe you should apologise?"

Apologise?! This isn't _first year_.

Besides I am an innocent party! The thought of stripping myself of the family honour and sinking as low as to_ apologise_ for a crime I did NOT commit in the vague hope that it will prevent my nether regions from resembling that slug later is preposterous.

But… she does look ever so sad.

"I'm sorry, Weasley." I whisper down the table.

I swear I become more Hufflepuff-esque with each and every day that passes. What happened to family honour? What happened to Slytherin decorum in the face of Gryffindor madness?

Merlin help my lost soul.

"Sorry?" She looks mighty confused. It appears that I was correct all along. I wasn't in the wrong. I turn round to Albus to flash him a self-satisfied smirk that I was right when I hear her knife stop loudly on the chopping board. I turn back and she's placed it down next to the slug and has folded her arms.

Oh dear.

As the French so eloquently put it: the merde has hit the fan.

And I don't even know what the merde is.

Merde!

"Since _when_ did you get the right to interfere with my dates?" Still mad about that? Goodness me, there are far more important things in life than the odd accusation of cradle-snatcher.

I decide to feign innocence. After all, she is verging on hypocrisy here. She did ruin my date with a perfectly viable non-Puddifooter for absolutely no reason whatsoever. On my birthday. Who is the heartless one now? "What date? I thought you didn't go on a date?"

"King told me he spoke to you," she snaps.

"Well, no need to worry on that front, he refused to inform me of anything, apart from confirming that the whole fake date thing was nothing but a ruse."

She sighs deeply, arms still resolutely folded. "It's not the fact that you got nothing out of him, it's the fact that you asked him at all."

Al sees fit to intrude at this point. "This argument is pointless."

"Agreed," I smile, my closest attempt at politeness when the girl opposite me looks like she wants to skewer me with her potions ladle.

"Fine, I will talk to you later, Malfoy."

Why is there something ominous about that statement?

* * *

Ah. Quidditch in the rain. How sublime.

I must say it is quite a stress-reliever. Playing Quidditch is one acceptable excuse for one to allow one's hair to get entirely messed up and thus I am quite content to be drenched to the skin and have mud plastered deep into my pores.

I see a quaffle heading in my direction and execute a nifty manoeuvre which involves spinning upside down and catching the quaffle mid-somersault.

I hear a distant swoon from the stands and notice that a gaggle of girls has gathered, despite the fact that it is pouring with rain to watch us heavenly beings engage in the god-like sport of Quidditch. I grin triumphantly to myself. I still have it.

Recently the Hot Seven have been gathering for some light inter-house Quidditch-ing followed by a spot of butterbeer in Greenhouse 3 – Longbottom Senior is a dimwit if he keeps blaming the left over bottles on the mandrakes having a mid-teenage crisis.

It was one of Al Potter's finer ideas.

It is remarkable that I have never spent more time with these fine gentlemen before. I mean, that fellow from Hufflepuff (I forget his name) has an astonishingly well-kept head of dirty blonde hair. I mean, it is of course not to rival mine, but I had the most intellectual conversation with him about the best wizard shampoo.

And Josh King – he may have stolen my only chance at a date this year from me, but that is technically Weasel's fault not his – is a smashing chap. He throws me a thumbs up through the torrents of rain for my marvellous catch.

I fling the quaffle with a perfectly aimed over-arm throw towards Al, who is too busy staring at the girls in the stands to notice that there is a ball heading straight for his head and so is very nearly concussed by it flying directly into his ear.

Josh flies over at this point, and comes to a sharp stop in the air beside me, flicking water up around him. "You've managed to get yourself an arch-nemesis, Malfoy."

"What, Potter?" I reply, looking down at the poor, poor fool who is flying in circles, clutching his head and screeching like a mandrake with PMS. "Oh no, he'll get over that. I've worked out his weakness – chocolate frogs. Bribery is the way forward my man. "

Josh shakes his head. "No, his cousin. Rose."

I suppose I was an idiot to suspect that no one had noticed Weasley's frankly befouling behaviour towards me. If the unscrupulously vicious glares throughout every single class, and every mealtime, weren't enough, she spent the majority of her life nowadays at the teacher's table demanding the McGonagiggles remove me from the Head Boy position at once because I am a 'liability'.

Nonsense.

I am a great asset to this school and Longbottom himself has given me his blessing. He fully admitted that having all this free time allowed him to indulge in his personal life – I did not pry as I gather he was not talking about horticulture, but in fact indulging a certain best friend of mine in a manner which I do not wish to have mental images of.

"I am well aware of the fact that she completely detests me at the moment, though I have no idea why."

That was slightly, possibly a teeny tiny white lie. I have my suspicions as to why she is so mad (something to do with me asking Josh about her fake date which wasn't a fake date when I should have been minding my own business. But really, who gets angry over something like that?).

Josh raises an eyebrow. "She was ranting earlier about how she was going to hex your… er… basilisk off."

I can guarantee you that the first thought on her mind was not hexing when she was considering my 'basilisk'.

It occurs to me that her getting mad at me for asking about her rendez-vous with Josh must have some kind of foundation. She must have been discussing something of the utmost secrecy and delicacy with this boy. I glance at him – I had not realised they were the closest of friends, but clearly she felt close enough to him to confide something of great importance to him.

I must find out what she talked to him about!

Why does she feel close enough to this boy to lavish secrets upon him, but will not grant me the same pleasure? I am a confidante with the utmost discretion,

"I asked her about why she was talking to you," I inform him. He looks a little awkward. This must be some juicy gossip indeed.

Tell.

Tell.

My attempts at imparting a thought into King's mind are failing.

"I guess she didn't tell you," King surmises. Genius boy this one. Ravenclaw was clearly not wasted on him.

I flick my hair to get some of the water out of it. It is pointless really since the rain instantly drenches it as soon as I have shaken some off. The hair flick has delighted my awaiting fans in the stands, however.

"Can you just give me the gist of what she wanted to know? It's driving me bonkers. She's mad at me for _something_ and it must be to do with that." I try to manage an expression of deep hurt that she is upset with me.

Josh looks at me sympathetically then sighs deeply. "She wanted boy advice."

I splutter loudly. "Boy advice?"

"Yeah, she likes someone and wanted impartial advice on how to you know…" He stopped speaking but his raised eyebrow seemed to say - seduce them and gain entry into their novelty herbology pants (or equivalent). Or words to that effect.

It all makes sense now, I nod to myself. "And that's why you took her to Puddifoot's. It was a fake date without her realising it."

King nods. "Yeah. Just in case he saw." He looks incredibly guilty and flies a little closer to me. "Look, please don't tell her I told you, I don't want my 'basilisk' to be next on the firing line." I raise an eyebrow. "Better you than me, mate!" He grins widely, and thumps me on the back in a primitive manly fashion inferring goodwill.

Well.

Weasley has a crush.

How intriguing… I am going to kick his arse.

* * *

"I am still chilled to the bone from that ghastly Quidditch session," Al whines as we plod down to the Greenhouses for a butterbeer. "I am a little worried that my feet have gangrene. There's something about the wind whipping at your feet when you're on a broom which is conducive to them getting exceptionally cold. Honestly, I think I've lost blood flow to them."

My mind is not dwelling on Pot-heads whinging, but instead elsewhere on Weasley and her gentleman caller. Or her wannabe gentleman caller.

His identity eludes me still.

From her previous dating history (ie. Longbottom) I can only assume that her type is as follows:

1) Nerdy to the point of being unable to function as a civilised human in polite society.

2) Not a Slytherin.

3) Not very witty/charming/funny.

Most intriguing. There are few gentlemen in this place, save Longbottom himself, who truly fulfil this criteria.

"Malfoyyyyyyy," Al whines childishly because I am ignoring him.

How can I further gain information on this subject? Once I know the identity, then all will become clear. I can go hex him and be done with it. It is finding the identity that will be the real trouble.

There are several ways of obtaining this information and they are as follows: (it appears I am becoming exceedingly adept at making lists in my internal monologue, I must add this to a list of my accomplishments).

1) Asking her directly. Of course, I would only take this route if I had a death wish as an encounter of this kind will inevitably end in my fearing for my life, or in fact, in my life having been brought to an abrupt end.

2) Asking her closest friend. This is relying on the assumption that she has consulted her closest friends, which may not be true. After all she did approach Josh King for advice about the matter… Maybe everyone already knows? Or maybe she is embarrassed by her crush and does not wish for any of her friends to know about it?

3) Sneaking into her bedroom (again) and reading her diary. I don't actually know if she keeps a diary, however, this is still a viable option.

4) Veritaserum... Probably morally unacceptable.

"Uh… Malfoy?" Al's voice has changed from the childish whine of a minute ago to a voice laced with warning and panic.

It brings me out of my Conan Doyle inspired reverie to look up and find the, now familiar, site of one Rose Weasley marching towards me as though she is itching to send me to Askaban. Or the school equivalent – detention.

"Albus, leave."

Abrupt. To the point.

I would say I like her style but I am too busy plotting out my escape route. Unfortunately, whichever way I go down the corridor she could get me with a trip jinx before I reached the end. And then I would be on the floor and at her mercy.

But not in a good way.

"Greenhouse three in a minute, Malfoy?" What a buffoon. He has unleashed our secret meeting zone to Queen Rule-follower. Our cover is blown. I nod briefly all the same. It is better he does not witness me meeting my untimely end.

Al scuttles from the corridor so quickly I was not even aware he could move that fast. If he moved half as quickly on the Quidditch field as he did just then, Gryffindor might actually be with a chance of getting second place in the house cup.

Weasley waits for him to round the corner before she heads in the opposite direction saying, "Follow me."

Follow her? To my _death_? Or worse, the removal of a most beloved appendage?

Dream on!

"Actually, I have a party to be preparing for," I declare, trying not to panic as she reaches into her pocket for her wand, "It's a crying shame that you are not invited but to deprive my friends of my delightful presence would be a crime, do you not agree?"

I don't think she does agree. I think she very much disagrees. And I am just getting that from her facial expression. I am rather observant, I know.

She twirls her wand around her finger.

"You have five minutes," I tell her. Put the wand away. _Please_ put the wand away. I don't even have mine on me! I always leave it under my pillow when I go for quidditch practice in case it falls out when I am fifty feet in the air and is broken. That thing cost me a fortune.

She stops after about three feet (honestly, the whole follow me thing was really erring on the side of unnecessary theatrical drama. A girl after my own heart, I sense) - and pulls back a tapestry to reveal a little alcove. "In."

"Really, Weasley," I smirk, thoroughly enjoying the moment. "After all you said about cupboard antics, here you are luring me into a secluded location. I should have known that your complaints were an attempt for you to hide the truth – You secretly _love_ cupboards and the 'sexually charged atmosphere' that they provide." I grin as I end quoting her precise words on one of our previous cupboard encounters.

I have turned the Weasel. I cannot believe it.

I have performed miracles! Weasley luring men into a cupboard!

Admittedly, this is me… and she has more nefarious plots on her mind than what I usually use cupboards for, but nonetheless it is a remarkable change in her character.

* * *

**A/N: The product of feeling extremely inspired this morning.**

**Please let me know what you think, reviews are greatly appreciated.**

**Gco. x**


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